


Obi Wan Shot Universe

by PlexFlexico



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Daddy Kink, F/M, Mentions of pornography, Mind Reading, Oral Sex, Penetrative Sex, Skinny Dipping, Virginity Kink, alcohol consumption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:27:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24821587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlexFlexico/pseuds/PlexFlexico
Summary: This is now an entire alternate universe. I can't take the crap-sack-ness of the Star Wars canon so I have decided to ignore canon and correct the mistakes that have been made.Everyone lived except Dooku and Palpatine.Maul, Savage and Feral are together. Maul still has legs. Kenobi just cut him so he no longer has a belly button. He’s gotten over it. They’re no longer evil and are off having fun adventures and eating popsicles in the park.Every single clone is fine.Rex takes a fucking nap.Anakin and Padme raise Luke and Leia. Auntie Ahsoka is a regular guest.Order 66 was entirely averted. The equivalent of the Y2K issue happened. No one had planned for it. All the chips fail at 00:00:00 Kamino Standard time one day.Echo is fine. He ended up getting laser eye surgery instead of terrible cybernetics due to a paperwork SNAFU.Fives? He’s great. Echo reads all his holo-communicator contracts and he’s never lost a fight with the billing department.The hoards of battle droids?  Reprogrammed as the Galaxy’s best line dancing troupe. They’re very popular.Sandwich clone? Totally fine. He opened a sweet little lunch spot. It’s very popular.
Relationships: Crosshair (Star Wars)/Reader, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Reader, Tech (Star Wars)/Reader
Comments: 10
Kudos: 149





	1. Chapter 1

Watching the usually prim-and-proper Jedi walk into a room and take a seat always had you struggling to cover your amusement. **  
**

He’d walk in— stride in, really— posture perfect, robes perfect, hair and beard fussily neat. Then the man would basically just _drape_ himself over a chair like a courtesan displaying herself to her best advantage, legs splayed, arms wide.

It’s bad enough when he’s on a diplomatic mission, when you can feel the attention of everyone in the room focus on him with varying degrees of admiration or interest, but when he does it in Council Chambers it takes every bit of strength you have to suppress laughter at the absolute tempest raging in the force signatures of the other Jedi present. 

Some are annoyed at him for what they wish they could call impertinence, some are ashamed of the momentary spark of interest and lust he unknowingly lights within them, and some are simply jealous of his easy and impressive physicality. 

***

You had been born force-sensitive on a world tucked so far out on the edge of the known galaxy it had just recently started to be included on maps. Your parents had been starry-eyed explorers, settling on a virtually uninhabited world to live out their dream of carving out a self-sufficient life away from the politics and war that plagued the rest of the galaxy. 

You grew up knowing that you could feel things, know things, that your parents couldn’t, but being who they were you were never made to feel strange or out of place. They simply accepted that their child had a sensitivity to the universe they lacked, and did their best to help you, as little as that was. 

You had been able to feel other force-sensitives for as long as you could remember. 

Sometimes it felt like sending a ripple from a pebble thrown into a lake at the opposite shore, and sometimes it was as if someone had gripped you by the arms and was screaming in your face. 

Sometimes it was just a whisper of a feeling, or a sense of a colour radiating from a particular point in space.

Sometimes it was words in strange languages, and sometimes in basic, pouring feverishly out of a mind in a moment of great turmoil, or pain, or love. 

Sometimes it was nothing more than images, like disjointed dreams. Jumbled, jittery holos projected in your head, without temporal sense or logical flow. 

By the time you were a teenager you’d learned how to, not exactly block, but at least filter this constant inflow of feeling and information. It made it easier to think your own thoughts when you could effectively ignore the cacophony of the busy lives of so many others. 

Yet no matter how you tried you couldn’t seem to reach back. You were only able to receive, never transmit. When a pair of Jedi on an exploratory mission came to your little farm they quickly sussed out that you could read them, but were shocked to find you were little more than a blank wall to them.

And so you ended up as a valuable member of the staff serving the Jedi High Council as a diplomatic escort and a spy. Other force sensitive beings had no idea how easily you could read them, and this made them incautious and apt to communicate amongst themselves while you sat placidly, listening to their thoughts and silent intercommunications, trained to never betray even the slightest hint of emotion. 

You were currently assigned to the lounging Jedi, Obi Wan Kenobi, as his assistant in a series of ongoing diplomatic negotiations. You couldn’t be bothered to learn what they were about, or why there was a dispute in the first place. That wasn’t your job. You just listened, categorized, and remembered in order to later regurgitate the subtle and secret information you had gathered before simply wiping it from your mind. 

You worked well with Obi Wan. Quick witted, companionable, frighteningly capable, courteous to a fault— that was Master Kenobi in a nutshell. He had a dry sense of humor that appealed to you and a devilish glint in his eye now and then that told you he was not nearly as stoic and closed off to fun as some of his peers on the Council were. 

There was one other thing that had clued you in to the fire burning unrestrained, just under the surface of the devil-may-care grin and proper, courtly manners.

Obi Wan, for all his control, could do nothing about his mind when he was dreaming. None of them could. Pretty much every being had some sort of sleep cycle, when their brains would shift from having an ability to maintain awareness to a more base, uncontrolled state. 

Oh, Stars, his dreams were something else. 

Since you’d been spending many nights with him on a small ship and were in close physical proximity, it was easy to pick up on the workings of his sleeping mind. Though you couldn’t probe or dig or nudge, you found you really didn’t have to. It was all laid bare for you as the weeks wore on and you spent more and more time together. 

Two things had become clear: 

Master Obi Wan Kenobi was a virgin. 

Master Obi Wan Kenobi dreamed, often, of you taking that from him in a surprising number of situations and in some very creative ways. 

Tonight, when you left on your secretive mission to Marzipan and it would be only the two of you on the ship, after all but the astromech droids were powered down— Tonight you’d start to make his dreams come true. 

*** 

“Well, that was a productive day!” Obi, ever the cheery one, rakes a hand through his hair and grins at you with that grin that makes you throb. As ever, you’re thankful that to the rest of the universe you’re a blank slate as far as your force signature is concerned, and that the Jedi have rigorously trained you to suppress all outward signals of excitement. 

He’s in the pilot’s seat, taking the ship to the nearest safe point for a jump into hyperspace. It’s the perfect moment to put your plan into action, this being so very, very close to the beginning of a very vivid, very hot dream he’s had twice in the last month. 

For a man with no experience at all he certainly hasn’t denied himself the occasional indulgence when curiosity gets the better of him. You know he’s watched some rather racy holos, having felt the ripples in his force signature while he dreams and understanding the flavour of the differences between an invention of the mind and a memory called up out of the depths. 

Obi’s signature right now is calm, unruffled. 

Not for long. 

You slouch a little in your chair, stretching out your legs and throwing an arm up over your head to grip the headrest, matching the posture you had taken at the start of his dream. “Productive, but so stifling,” you answer, giving the tiniest of pouts. There’s no need to be overly dramatic. Shocking him won’t get you anywhere. You feel the pulse in his signature, see him start ever so subtly in his chair, as the moment of confused deja vu washes over him. 

“Stifling? How so?” 

Excellent. He’s either subconsciously falling into the script his own psyche wrote, or he’s testing to see if perhaps he’s able to tell the future, or maybe believes he’s dreaming again and is unwilling to break the spell. 

“All that sitting around and nodding and smiling and the insufferable hours upon hours of polite conversation! I can’t stand to feel so cooped up!” You sigh, breathy and soft, and smile prettily at him. “I guess I’ll just have to wait until we’re done with this infernal mission so I can get rid of some of this _energy._ ” 

“I— I could—” For a brief moment you had felt the waves of want coming from him, and not all through the force, either. Jedi and virgin though he may be, he’s still just a flesh and blood man and flesh sometimes has a mind of its own. But he had stopped. He had gathered his control and pushed it all down again. 

No matter, you know how the play goes and you have no problem feeding him his lines. 

You unzip the over-jacket you wore today, prim and proper from neck to hips, and pull it off. You’re now sitting there in a sleeveless, silky white top with a neck that drapes down just enough to show the tops of your breasts without being in the least indecent. Obi had admired this piece of clothing more than once, and it was a regular feature in his mind’s nighttime entertainments. You had forgone the usual bra, blessing your youth, adequate hydration, a strict workout routine, and great genes for not really needing one in the first place. 

You inhaled slowly to sigh again, leaning forward just enough to cause the neckline of your top to fall forward and reveal just a touch more for his now unwavering gaze., your forearms resting on your thighs. 

Thankfully the next thing you have to say is not completely out of place, despite his reluctance to let himself slip into the role he’d written for himself. You’re sure now that it won’t take much to bewitch him. His eyes are almost black, his pupils blown wide, and his skin is flushed. You can feel the pulse of him through the force, feel his restraint slip as his signature grows brighter, fuller, more _solid_. 

“It _would_ be nice to have something to do to let some of this tension out.” You meet his gaze, letting the corners of your mouth curl in the way that always causes his force signature to flare for a moment. 

There’s a split second of pulling back, and then something deep under all that spectacular control comes raging forth and the Perfect Jedi breaks. 

“I could help you with that.” His voice is husky, his eyes bleary, his mind racing yet somehow also blank. He’s stopped analyzing why this was happening and simply gave in. 

“Oh? What do you suggest we do, Master Kenobi? There isn’t much space on the ship for physical activity.” You stretch languidly, inhaling to push out the breasts that Obi had imagined a hundred times, had ached to touch, to kiss, to worship. 

“Let me show you— I— I need to show you,” his breathing is heavier now and the force is electric with the energy he’s putting out. 

“Yes, Master Kenobi. Please— Show me, show me everything,” as trite as it was there was a thrill in playing the coquette to his role as the ardent lover. 

He surged forward out of his chair and seized you by the arms, pulling you out of the chair and flush against him. Since you knew how this was going to go, since you could feel what he was going to do next you could rise seamlessly and crash your lips into his. 

His hands wasted no time in making his dreams a reality, in seeing if the gossamer ghost of you he’d conjured was anything at all like the real thing. 

_Stars, it’s so much **better**_. 

You can hear him clear as day in your head. He’s not trying to project, but he’s so lost in getting as close to you as he can that he’s pushing forth every sensation, every flutter of the heart, the entire rush of his thoughts— all of them centered on you and the way you feel, taste, smell, sound— you drop your defences and let it all in, sorting through to find the darkest possible desire. The one thing that burns him hotter than any other, the thing he’s craved the most. 

In most men it’s something from their formative years, often something for which they feel great shame and therefore hide from everyone, occasionally even themselves. You let the tidal wave wash over you, opening yourself to the textures and colours of the force as everything in his mind is revealed to you like a flower bursting open. 

Ah. _There_ it is. Oh, oh, _oh_. Oh, my darling Jedi you _are_ one of a kind, aren’t you? 

You break the kiss and as you lean back his hands move from your arms, one to your waist and the other possessively cupping a breast. He’s hard as durasteel, harder even, but it’s about to get _so much better_ for him. 

You begin to walk backwards, leading him slowly to your cabin where the bed is incredibly soft and the pillows abundant. You’re not going to be leaving whatever bed you end up in for some time, and his spartan quarters were not conducive to a romantic liaison. 

As you approach the bed you turn him so he’s the one now walking backwards and you lead him to the bed. When you feel the backs of his legs touch the mattress you push him back and he falls willingly, but when he hits the bed a sudden light of understanding flashes in his eyes. 

There’s a moment of hesitation. He feels exposed, vulnerable, and just as he starts to close himself off you climb onto the bed, straddling his hips and leaning forward to kiss him long and deep. 

He moans against your mouth, and surrenders as he’s always wished to. There’s no more holding back. He understands how deep he’s let you get, and he’s not going to hold anything back anymore. It’s all yours for the taking. 

You sit up, the pressure of your clothed sex against the fly of his trousers making him hiss. You pause, for one moment, and hold his gaze. He doesn’t flinch, his vision clearing for a moment as he nods and then grins and then oh, Maker, you’re going to make this so good for him. 

You reach out and grasp the front of his soft shirt, and he gasps as you tear it from him and immediately suck a nipple into your mouth, swirling your tongue and sucking lightly. The noise that’s wrenched from him is almost a keening wail, but you’re both past inhibition. You attend to the other just as thoroughly, then slip off him as he gives a whine. 

Slapping his inner thigh you take on an imperious air, “Behave, or you’ll get nothing.” 

He whimpers delightfully in apology and nods, his eyes afire and his force signature glowing like a beacon. 

You roughly strip his pants from him, catching his cock and making it smack back against his taut and toned stomach. It was an absolutely gorgeous cock, though you already knew that as Obi had no trouble picturing himself as he was in his dreams. Long and thick and currently quite red and leaking just a bit, you couldn’t wait until you could taste it, but right now it wasn’t your turn. 

You climbed back onto the bed, gradually working your way up his marvelous body until you were nose to nose. His lips parted and you could feel how desperate he was to kiss you, to taste your lips again, to feel you against him, to—

Planting small, teasing kisses on his slightly swollen, reddened lips you whisper, “If you’re very, very good I’ll let you have whatever you like, whenever you want, however you want, until we arrive at our destination. I’ll be the perfect little girl you ache to have under your thumb, with her perfect tits and her perfect, wet, hungry pussy— but you have to prove to me that you deserve something that precious.” 

“Yes, yes, please let me show you. I promise— I’ll be so good. Anything— I’ll do anything. Please.” He’s hoarse, begging, wrecked already. 

“Good boy. That’s my good, good boy,” you croon as you slide up further and settle your thighs on either side of his face. He closes his eyes and inhales, groaning like a man starving and presented with the sweetest fruit. As you lower yourself he begins to kiss you, open mouthed, tongue exploring your folds gently but with some idea of what he’s doing thanks to his secret holo collection. 

His arms come up and wrap around your thighs, holding you steady as he works his tongue between your lips and laps at the slick dripping from you. His eyes roll back in his head as your taste coats his tongue and you’re flooded with a thousand images of wanton pleasure as he loses himself in you. 

“Now, my little Jedi, use all your skills and make me see the stars.” You grip a fistful of his hair and begin to guide his mouth on you, and he obliges with a gentle suck on your throbbing clit, flickering his tongue against it. 

You slowly grind your hips against his perfect, pouty lips, encouraging him when he hits the right spot with lavish praise. 

“Yes, darling. Like that. Oh, so good— my sweet boy.” 

“Suck my love, just— oh— just like that. Yes— oh, oh, please don’t stop.” 

“Your tongue is heaven— I never want you to stop— Can you feel how wet you make me? I’m dripping down your chin, darling.” 

He’s an eager student and it isn’t long before you feel the tension begin to wind tight, your thighs shaking, and your breathing growing harsh. He’s writhing under you, lost in everything, his mind and body afire with lust and a desire to taste you on his tongue as you come apart, screaming his name. 

“Yes— Obi— oh please don’t stop— Yes—yesyesyes— that’s it— that’s the— I’m—” You gasp, feeling the coming rush of your orgasm slam down your spine and settle low in your belly. 

“Obi— I’m coming— it’s so perfect— that’s perfect— oh— oh— Obiiiiiii!” 

You’ve never come so hard in your entire life, and through it all you can hear him grunt madly and feel him shudder as the fulfillment of his deepest fantasy has excited him so much his twitching cock is spraying his hot load all over his stomach and chest, and, oh Maker, you can feel him through the force, his own orgasm cresting inside you with yours somehow, rending you apart body and soul in the sweetest way. 

Oh yes, he definitely was one of a kind. This assignment was going to be the best one yet.


	2. Obi Wan Shot Two: Virgin Jedi Boogaloo

Obi Wan doesn’t stop as much as he winds down, still grunting and twitching, his orgasm taking time to fade. Lapping at you slowly he’s moaning, his eyes unfocused but still searching for you in the haze of his pleasure. 

You focus entirely on the deeper layers of the jumbled tangle of thoughts and feelings that are pouring out of him like water. He’s had an orgasm before, but never like that, and it’s left him feeling both satisfied and still unsatisfied, somehow.

Reaching back you grasp his cock and gently squeeze at the base and you can feel how his mind turns to static at the relief of being touched. When you let go he whines into you and you run your fingers through his hair. He comes back to the here and now, his eyes finally focusing in yours. 

He tries to hold you down on his face as you move to get up, so you lean back and plant a stinging slap on his tender inner thigh. The Jedi jolts underneath you and gasps as you bite out harshly, “Behave! You’re not done just yet. Understood?”

“Y-yes, I understand, I’m sorry— I’ll be good. Please! I’ll be good—” He’s babbling, desperate, his signature roiling with want and a need he can’t define. 

But _you_ can. 

He’s not the first uptight, stoic, bottled-up Jedi Master you’ve deflowered. Previous to your rise in the ranks you had rarely run into anyone ‘untouched’. Once you started diplomatic escorts you began to spend time with Jedi Masters and, as now, members of the High Council. Few of them had any experience at all, and those that had any had very little. 

No matter what anyone tells you about the fantastic control they can exert, you know the truth. Flesh is flesh. Flesh is weak— or, perhaps, it’s far stronger than any act of will. You see deeper and with more clarity then they can hope to understand, perhaps because you are simply a receiver and whatever it was in you that was supposed to ‘broadcast’ was wired backwards, or perhaps because you’re an anomaly among anomalies. 

Whatever the cause, the result is the same. Jedi minds are an open book to you when they let their guard down, and right now Obi Wan was an exposed nerve. 

He wants to thrust his hips up into nothingness, chasing a feeling he’s never known but that his body still craves. Instinct starts to whisper to him from the deeper part of his mind, the instincts he’s gagged into silence with his years of training. The same instincts he barely allows a voice in the few moments of pleasure he’s stolen for himself in his life, when the ache has been too much and he can no longer hold back. 

You run your fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp and giving him something to focus on, “Shhhh— Calm yourself, darling.”

You slide down his chest, lifting your hips slightly as you reach his taut stomach, and settle your slick lower lips along the length of him. You roll your hips slowly, and Obi Wan throws his head back, his eyes shut and his mouth falling open as a throaty moan escapes him. His hands slam to his sides, fisting in the sheet as he forces himself to keep still. 

_Oh, stars— Maker! She’s so hot, so hot—_

Your mind is flooded with images from him, half-formed but all of them feature him rutting into you, grunting and spilling the most gorgeous filth from his mouth. 

“Patience, my good boy. You’ll have that and more— but now you must be very obedient and pay attention. Consider this your training, _Master._ ” 

At the sound of the honorific and the demure way you looked at him through your lashes you felt his cock throb beneath you followed by a wave of want crashing through the force, liquid gold shimmering with blue and slippery like oil. You allow it to settle along your nerves, relishing the aching anticipation he’s feeling. 

Canting your hips slightly you catch the head of him at your entrance, quickly placing a hand on his hip and holding him steady. Leaning forward, capturing his mouth in a deep kiss, the slow slide down his length draws a breathy sigh from him. His head is swimming, he’s so lost in the sensation. Everything he ever imagined vanishes like smoke as your slick walls envelop him. 

_Oh— I— she’s so wet— hot silk— Oh— kriff, no— I— no, not yet!_

You stop. Holding perfectly still while he pants beneath you. His cock throbs inside you, straining as he trembles.

“Shhhh— Darling, you’re doing wonderfully. Just relax,” you whisper through tender, feather-light kisses. It takes him but a moment to calm himself and come down from the edge, then you begin again.

A shuddering breath leaves him as you sink down the final inches, seating him deep within you then stilling yourself and squeezing him tightly. His hands fly up to grip your hips, holding you to him in a panic. He’s so sensitive and you’re so wonderfully soft and warm and _wet_ — so kriffing _slick_ around him— 

He’s fighting the urge to grind into you and bring on the release that’s throbbing and twisting in his belly and balls. You open yourself up to it, letting it wash through you, the sensations settle into you in a way your own body can’t know without this one-way connection. The sweet ache spurs a rush of wetness that drips down his tight sack and a grasping of your walls along him, but he’s holding on admirably. 

Slipping a hand between your bodies you seek out your throbbing clit and begin to pleasure yourself, swirling tight circles on the stiff pink bud. Obi Wan watches greedily, his eyes flicking from your hand to your face, watching your skin blush and your fingers speed up as your cunt flutters around him. 

_So beautiful— Oh, I can feel her. I can feel you, Darling. You can hear me, I know you can hear me. Come undone little one— please— I need to feel you— I need— Oh, Darling one— little flower— you’re trembling— I feel you— tr— Oh, please— Oh, Maker— Maker—_

As your orgasm crests through you you lose all control and begin to ride him, almost sobbing with the pleasure of his hot, hard and huge cock stroking you just where you need it. Head thrown back you pump your hips on him, using his cock to intensify and prolong your pleasure, fucking him deep and slow. 

His force signature glows brighter, intensifies. There’s a moment when it seems to be crackling with blue and white and then he’s gripping you with his hands and with the force and flipping you over, throwing your legs over his shoulders and fucking you into the bed as he lets loose a war cry, his hips slapping into you mercilessly as he chases the release he needs so badly. 

_Kriff— She’s milking me— her hot cunt is milking my kriffing cock— kriff—_

_Maker—_

Then nothing more resembling words comes from him, just colour and texture and a feeling like flying as the strongest orgasm of his life sets his brainstem on fire. Every muscle tightens and there’s one second where he’s right on the edge—

_Stars— please— please— oh— there, right there— right there rightthererighthereright—_

The Jedi Master is a mess, groaning and shaking as he fucks you, his nearly empty balls straining painfully. His hips stutter—

_Too much— oh kriff don’t stop— don’t stop— Ah! Kriff— I can’t— Oh—_

With one, final and very strong contraction he slams into you hard and deep and just grinds his cock into your cervix, growling from his chest as the waves of his orgasm wrack his body. It slams through you and you’re grinding back into him, coming hard and fast and it’s so kriffing good. Like a slap on the ass when you’re not quite expecting it and over almost as quickly. 

You slip your legs from his shoulders and he collapses on you, his face into your breasts. He captures a nipple in his mouth to suckle, little moans and whimpers coming from him. He lets it go with a pop and seeks out the other, suckling and laving it with his tongue as if seeking comfort from such a primally maternal act. Your hands cradle his head, letting him come back to himself at his own pace, not wishing to pull him out of this beautiful haze that surrounds the two of you. 

When the last spasm has faded and the tension is entirely drained from him, Obi Wan eases himself from you and collapses on the bed, his legs tangled in yours and his arms pulling you to his chest. Lips buried in your hair, he’s murmuring to you. You can’t catch the words with your ear but you can feel him still through the force. 

_Little flower. My little darling one. Devilish thing— and so sweet. Can’t wait to have you bent over and begging— fill you every way I can— my sweet little flower._

You sigh and snuggle in closer, letting his murmured thoughts lull you into a much needed nap.


	3. Obi Wan Shot Universe - Bad Batch Plus Edition- 2! Tech!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Sexy times with clones, swimming, a bit of drinking, some kisses, walking through a jungle, latrine digging.
> 
> Characters: Rex, Cody, Kix, Wrecker, Tech, Crosshair, Hunter, and Force-Sensitive Reader.

It’s so dark here.

You’re on some hot, fetid jungle planet, tracking down one of the last holdouts that remained loyal to the ideals of Palpatine. Assigned to a group of Clone Troopers who had chosen to stay on until the job was fully done, you were here to glean as much information ahead of the raid as you could. 

First, though, you had to reach the base they were holed up in and that meant trekking for days through an unfamiliar jungle, sweating through your clothes after a few minutes. Stopping for the night was almost a relief, except that when you weren’t moving there was no breeze at all and the oppressive humidity seemed enough to drown you where you stood. 

Still, it could be worse. You could be on Hoth. 

* * *

Hands on hips you stretch your neck, and then get to the business of helping set up camp. So far they’d been fine with taking on the heavy work of setting up tents and let you clear some space to set up for cooking. Your supply of caf concentrate had endeared you to the Clones immensely this morning as you broke camp, and they had reciprocated in kind by offering to share the Alderaanian liqueur they had stashed in the big one’s pack when you stopped this evening. 

They seemed to enjoy the thought of someone taking care of them, and you certainly didn’t mind. They’d had a rough time of it before Palpatine’s plans had been exposed in a freak software glitch and though many of their brothers had left as soon as they were able, these men had stayed to see it through to the bitter end. The least you could do was offer them some sort of comfort when you could. 

Hunter, the leader of the 99’s, had excused himself to see if he could find something appropriate for dinner aside from the ration packs. They were fine and you certainly weren’t left hungry, but fresh meat was always welcome. Wrecker, the big one, was taking out a few ‘small’ trees that would allow a better camp set up and also provide you with benches around the fire tonight. He saw you looking and as he lifted the truck off the ground and swung it around to carry it over to the fire pit he threw you a saucy wink and a grin, and also earned himself a whack on the back of the head from Crosshair, who had just about been decapitated through Wrecker’s inattention. 

“Watch it. You can ogle the Jedi later.” The grey-haired man pulled the toothpick out of his mouth and flicked it at the ground. 

“I’m not a Jedi,” you chide gently. “Don’t expect me to be able to lift rocks with the force. I’m just a receiver, nothing more.” 

Wrecker manhandled the log into position and went to work hacking off inconvenient branches, tossing them to the side for the temporary shelter you’d build for the latrine. “So can you read minds? Can you tell what I’m thinking right now?” His face pulled into a lecherous grin, but the twinkle in his eye told you this one, for all his bluster, was an easygoing and good humoured man. 

Crosshair shook his head and scoffed at Wrecker, then stalked off to join Tech, Rex, Cody, and Kix where they were setting up the tents. 

“No, I can’t read your mind,” you laugh. “It only works with force sensitives and it’s not exactly mind reading unless someone really isn’t trying to hide their thoughts, or doesn’t think they have to. The only thing I get from you is— it’s hard to explain. I know when people are happy, or upset, or angry. It’s— I can feel it and see it but it’s not really there.” 

“I know what that’s like,” came a voice from the treeline. Hunter was back with two brace of some large bird and a big grin on his face. “I found dinner— and I found something even better.” 

“What’s that?” Cody strides over and takes the birds from him, hanging them up on a tree branch near the firepit you’re building. 

“Less than a quarter click from here there’s a pond, spring fed. It’s cold and the water’s safe. We can fill up here.” They had been worried about the water supply, with the amount of sweating you were all doing you were going through water faster than they had anticipated. 

“Can we maybe go for a swim?” You’re puffing a bit with the effort of hauling rocks to the firepit, sweat coating you and dripping down your neck and back. Getting the last one into place you head to the tools and grab the shovel to start digging out the latrine. 

“Yeah, I’d say it’s safe enough. Cody? What do you think?” Hunter doesn’t exactly defer to him, but none of the 99’s are quite comfortable with you and prefer to allow Rex and Cody to lead the way in all matters concerning your safety. 

“I’d say it’s fine. We could all use some cooling off,” he raised an eyebrow in Wrecker’s direction. 

***

Dinner was fantastic. It wasn’t just the food, it was the way it felt to be around them. They’re brothers in a deeply fundamental sense and they’re all very much aware of it. Despite the bickering— which wasn’t anger as much as just siblings being siblings— there is always an overwhelming sense of love and affection that underlies these moments, like a river flowing just under the ground that you can hear and smell. 

You’re sandwiched between Tech and Kix, passing the bottle around the fire. They were reminiscing with one another and you were content to simply drift along, half listening to them and half listening to the sounds of the deepening evening. 

“We should go for that swim, I think,” called Wrecker from across the fire. “If we keep at these bottles we’re not gonna have any left for tomorrow night.”

“Sounds good to me. I’m about to melt,” you say as you get up, stretching. “Hunter, care to lead the way?” 

It took almost no time at all to arrive at the small clearing with the pond nestled in the middle. You could smell it before you could see it, fresh and cool, and you couldn’t wait to get in. 

Striding across the clearing you’re stripping off your shirt before you even reach the rocks at the water’s edge. You fold it as you’re walking and place it on a rock. Shucking off your boots you’re glad you’d all taken off the armor at camp and had just been hanging around in your blacks. When you turned to skim off your pants you noticed that none of them had moved an inch from the edge of the clearing, all eyes on you. 

You might not be able to read their minds, exactly, but you didn’t need special powers to see that they were all a bit shocked. Wrecker stared at you, looking positively dumbfounded. Rex was trying not to look, his hand on the back of his neck as he tried to figure out what to do next.

“I’m not swimming in my blacks, they’ll never dry in this humidity. If you plan to get wet I’d suggest you strip down, as well or you’re going to have a miserably chafed day tomorrow.” 

Rex’s eyes snapped up and now they were all staring at you. 

“Come on! Don’t be shy,” you tease. “I’ve been with the army five years now, I’ve seen plenty of naken men, clones, aliens— There’s nothing you have that I haven’t seen before.” You unzip your fly and let your pants fall, stepping out of them and then scooping them up to place them with your shirt. 

“You’re not wearing anything under your blacks,” said Cody, quietly. 

“I’m not wearing my blacks, either,” you call over your shoulder as you scramble to stand on a rock. “How deep would you say this is, Hunter?” 

“About 30 feet right from the edge on this side, there’s a shallow shelf across the way where the sinkhole that formed that was held up by a basalt pillar.” 

“Excellent.” 

You treat them to a momentary view of your strong back and legs as you pose to begin a swan dive into the water. You gracefully turn in the air and slice down through the surface into a beautifully cool and still place that feels like heaven after the sticky atmosphere above. You turn and kick towards the surface, rising and taking a lungful of warm, green-scented evening air. 

You swim on your back, treading water and heading slowly out to the center. To your surprise it’s Crosshair, the most uptight seeming of them all, who’s now dropping his pants and striding towards the water. He dives just as you did, rising out of the water not far from you. He dives under again and you can feel him pass just under your feet, coming up behind you this time. 

“Water’s great, vode, you should join us!” There was a hint of challenge in his voice, and that was enough to spur the others on. Clothes were discarded and soon you were all playing about in the water like sleek, happy otters. 

At one point they were dunking one another and Kix pushed you under, laughing. You had taken a big breath just before, so you let yourself sink down, swimming underwater as smoothly as possible to the shelf across the pond. Tucking a hand under the rock overhang you hung there, almost invisible under the water in the darkness with only feeble moonlight to help. 

At first they didn’t understand why Kix was in such a panic. Then you guessed from the sound of things he finally got it out and suddenly there were shouts and splashing, but what you hadn’t expected was the intense bleed-out from the sheer panic that suddenly gripped them. 

Oh, kriff. This wasn’t fun anymore. 

You pushed up and broke the surface, swimming hard for them where they were searching for you, calling out, “I’m fine! I’m alright! I’m sorry!” 

The relief hit you like a brick wall and you turned over on your back to float for a moment so you wouldn’t accidentally inhale water. In a split second you were surrounded by them, all of them reaching out to you and trying to keep you up. Tech accidentally grabbed a solid handful off ass, gasped, inhaled half the pond and had to be hauled up by the armpit, Wrecker having more than enough power to keep the both of them up while Tech recovered himself. 

You couldn’t stop laughing, but through the giggles you managed to get out, “I’m fine, I’m fine. Tech, though, might need a moment.” 

Between sputtering coughs Tech groaned and tried to hide his face in his hands. “I didn’t mean to! I couldn’t see— It wasn’t—” 

“You had better explain yourself, son,” came Rex’s gentle, but authoritative voice. 

“Rex, it’s fine. He grabbed a handful of shebs in the panic. Not his fault. I shouldn’t have tried to play a trick on all of you like that. It was cruel and I’m sorry.” 

“Awww, some guys have all the luck,” sulked Wrecker, unceremoniously dropping Tech. Thankfully he’d recovered enough to tread water on his own, though his expression said he’d rather just slip under the surface and be done with it. 

Swimming over to Tech you reach out and slip a hand down his back to his delightfully toned tush, giving a gentle but thorough squeeze. His eyes widen and then he proceeds to swallow the other half of the swimming hole. You get him in a rescue hold and in his shock he goes entirely limp, making it easy for you to get him to the rock overhang. You pull him along and then sit on the edge of the ledge, Tech's back to your chest as you massage his shoulders and hold a steadying hand to his solar plexus while the coughs wracked his body. 

Gradually he calms and you lay your head against his shoulder, panting with him, everyone else having joined you on the shelf or treading water close by. Wrecker hauls himself up beside you and throws a friendly arm around your shoulders.

“You’ll have to forgive us, love, we’re used to battling droids, not playing in the water with pretty girls.” He gives you that slightly crooked grin of his, waggling his eyebrows up and down.

"Aw, you guys think I'm pretty?" It feels good to joke and laugh, letting the tensions of the mission fall to the wayside for a little while.

Cody pulls himself up on the other side of you, "Prettiest girl I've seen on this planet so far." His deadpan delivery has Rex in stitches and you're falling over backwards, slipping out of Wrecker's hold and into the shallow water on the shelf, floating there in the moonlight with your ankles hooked around Tech's hips to keep yourself from floating away. 

Kix swims up to check out Tech, talking and chuckling softly to him in Mando'a. 

"You're fine, vod. Just quit trying to breathe pond water." Kix claps him on the shoulder and kicks off the shelf, diving backwards through the ripples. 

Cody lays back into the water and Wrecker follows suit. As Cody drifts a bit closer you rest your head on his shoulder. Using your ankles you nudge Tech backwards until he's laying on you, his shoulders across your hips and the back of his head nestled on your lower belly. He pulls your leg up over his chest and rests his hand on your shin, loose and easy. 

You reach out and find Wrecker's hand under the water, lacing your fingers with his.

"I wish it could always be this way," you say quietly, looking up at the moon and stars in the circle of sky above you. "No orders, no blaster fire, no one shooting at me, me not needing to shoot at anyone. No having to listen for the whispers of betrayal or suss out lies. Just peace and quiet in the cool water, safe and happy, with the stars above."

"You really aren't a Jedi at all, are you?" Rex sounds almost sad as he says this. "They don't seem to wish for things to be different. They trust that everything is unfolding as it should. Don't you trust in the force the way they trained you?" 

"I know the force exists. It's there but I don't think it's something benevolent or even conscious the way the Jedi believe it to be. I think it's all so much older than those concepts. They see the force as life— I think it came before life. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of something— I can't begin to explain, but— I think we have free will for a reason and I think trusting blindly in what someone else has told you is your purpose is a ridiculous waste of potential and gives you too much license to deny responsibility for your choices."

"Definitely not a Jedi." Crosshair is perched on top of a rock at the edge of the water, and maybe it's just the moonlight but you could swear that grumpy bastard is smiling softly at you. 

Laughter rustles through the group, and everyone seems to draw closer. Hunter and Kix float over and Rex moves further up the ledge to sit in the water behind you. 

The comfortable silence is broken by Tech. "What do you see, when you see us through the force?" He's absently running his fingers lightly up and down your leg. "Are we different from— other beings?"

"Are you asking me if you all feel the same to me?" 

"Yes, that would be a more accurate question." 

You can feel their eyes on you, and you smile softly at the feeling of taut anticipation that runs along the surface of the water like tendrils of smoke.

"No. You're not 'just clones'. You might be close to perfect genetic copies but there's more to it than that. That spark— life itself— that isn't genetics. You're as different as any other creature. Individual sparks of light in the force, floating like pollen grains in sunlight or sparks from the fire. No two exactly alike or travelling the exact same way. I can’t always feel you, some of you aren’t very force sensitive at all, but when I can? It feels like everyone else, which is— each of you is a new experience. Like no one else I’ve felt before.” 

“Does any of it feel the same? Are there ways we’re— alike?” Kix has the tone of a man who has been asking himself a question and didn’t realize it. 

“Yes, but it’s not as simple as that. There are— threads. Threads of purpose, or love, or just shared interest. They’re similar, but never _quite_ the same. Not in anyone. Collective acknowledgement of— a sense of togetherness or belonging, perhaps?— it flows through the force. It doesn’t bind, as much as it— connects.” The stars twinkle above, mocking your ineloquence.

The smoke vanishes and is replaced with warmth. Pink and gold and a smell like— something blooming. A flower without a real name, petals textured like dreams of home and sky. 

“What do you feel right now?” Hunter’s voice is low, as if he’ll scare off whatever it is that feels this good. 

“A moment ago I felt— apprehension. Something fearful, and maybe under it something—” You sigh like you’re being touched by a lover as another wave hits you. Tech turns his head and plants a tender kiss on your stomach. Cody nuzzles into your hair. “But now? It’s just bliss. You’re happy, and there’s so much love.” 

Some silent communication passed between Crosshair and Hunter just then. You couldn’t catch it but you could sense a shape to it. Anticipation, perhaps. 

“Crosshair and I are headed back to Camp. Finish getting the tent ready for tonight.” He got out of the water, Crosshair following. Kix swam easily across the pond to the side where you’d all discarded your clothes and once he was on shore shouted, “Don’t take too long, we’ve all got to get some sleep at some point!” 

Cody disentangles himself from you and pokes Rex, “Let’s go, vod. I could use another drink.” 

The rest of you slowly and regretfully start to get up. Wrecker heads after Rex and Cody, disappearing down the path with his blacks in his hand, his pale ass a glowing beacon in the moonlight that fades as he gets further ahead. 

You head to your clothes, stepping into your pants and boots for the walk back, leaving your shirt off for now. There’s no need to be shy, they’ve all seen everything anyway and the night is still stifling. 

Tech reaches out and takes your arm, stopping you and turning you to face him. 

"I am sorry, you know. I really didn't mean to." His eyes are soft and there's a hazy glow to the way he feels. 

"I know. I'm sorry I startled you. I was only having fun, not trying to drown you."

His grip on your arm widens and he steps a bit closer. "No need to apologize. If anything, we should all be thanking you. None of us are good at having fun, but you make it easy." 

He closes the space between you further. If you breathed in just a little deeper your breasts would be brushing his chest. He's looking down at you and you can tell he's definitely noting the effect his sudden proximity is having on you. 

"What you said about us— our differences and the things that connect us. Civvies don't see us that way. Most of the Jedi don't see us that way." He leaned forward almost imperceptibly, making you blush a bit harder. "The way we're close, it doesn't bother you. You just fell into it like it was natural. Laying with us in the water-—" He cuts off and you think of him laying on you, pressing a kiss into your skin, and a wave of warmth blossoms between your thighs. 

You're not bothering to try to control your responses. You don't want to. You don't want to hide the way he's making you feel because maybe that's something else they all need from you. Affection without reservation or motive. Love because they deserve love, give love, need love. 

Tech slides his hand up your arm, trailing his fingers across your shoulder and sweeping up to cup your cheek. "What do you see right now? What do you feel?" His voice is soft, sweet, as his eyes search yours. 

"I truly can't read your mind— it's more like a dream about a dream. Textures, colors, feelings— but they're your own and I don't always know what they mean." Your hands wander of their own volition, skimming along his arms, up around his neck, running through his hair and making him purr quietly. "It feels like—" 

It feels like a dream. You're moving, almost floating, backwards. You can feel the tree behind you and then Tech is pressed against you, nudging your nose with his. 

"What do you feel?" He's whispering against your lips, breath barely brushing your skin. 

"Heat. You're s-so _hot_ —" There's no room left for words. You're melting together and his kiss becomes everything. 

Plush, tender kisses. Slow and hungry. His hands wander, tracing your skin, your neck, collarbones, down to cup your breasts with a feather light touch. His thumbs graze your nipples and you whimper into his mouth, all of it too much and yet not enough. Your hands splay across his back, pulling him closer. Wanting more. 

Tech breaks the kiss with a groan, then nips and licks his way down your neck, down your chest. He seizes a nipple in his mouth, suckling and licking, making your back arch and fingers grip into his hair. Deft fingers dip into your waistband, popping open the button and slipping down your zipper. He releases your nipple from his hot mouth and drops to his knees, helping you step out of your boots and pants, then dives in between your legs, lapping and sucking and eating your pussy like it’s the best thing he’s ever had. 

There's no preamble. No hesitation. His lips and tongue wrap around your clit, heavenly fingers slide into you. He's moaning against your flesh and each time you let out a whimper or a breathy sigh it seems to spur him on. Tech is twisting his fingers within you and driving the sweet, flickering pressure of his tongue right where you need it. 

Now that his entire focus is on you, and now that he’s so close to you, you can feel him more clearly. Hear him. Not words, exactly, though now and then something comes through like a shout in the darkness. 

_...sweet…_

_...need her...soft...make her see stars..._

You can feel your orgasm cresting and you’re grinding your hips into his face, panting and moaning. He doesn’t let up until just the moment before you’re about to fall over the edge, then he’s tearing his mouth from you and pushing back against the tree as he slides into your waiting, wet pussy. 

“Kriff— you feel so good,” he breathes as he bottoms out and presses himself against you. “Need to feel you— feel you everywhere— so good—” He’s kissing you, his lips and chin slick with you, and the taste is divine. You slip a hand between you and work your fingers over your clit, your release so close it has your legs shaking where they’re wrapped around the trooper’s hips. 

The cloud of sensation coming from him surrounds you. Relief, and still so much want— and a fire burning deep in his belly. Overwhelming and all encompassing. 

_...been so long...beautiful...gotta give her what she needs...gotta...Maker..._

Tech sets up an unforgiving pace, steady and deep, grinding into you on the downstroke like he wants to bury everything he is in you forever. 

“What do you feel?” Tech demands in a harsh, commanding tone, hips snapping into you. 

Everything has contracted down to this one point in time and space. Just you and Tech and the stars all around. 

“You. I feel you— There’s only you and I can’t get enough— so good— so— Oh, Maker— Tech— don’t stop—” 

His head falls to your shoulder, his lips seek the flesh of your neck, teeth sinking in, and then your eyes are rolling back and your face turns up to the sky, screaming out as your orgasm hits you like a freighter, “Tech! Tech— _Maker_!” 

A low growl rises through his chest and crescendos in an animalistic yell as he follows you over the edge, his muscles straining and his mind filled with nothing but the echoes of you screaming his name into the darkness. 

His hips slow, and then still and he turns around so his back is now against the tree and then he slides down with you in his lap, still pulsing and jerking inside you. Lips find lips and it’s gone all tender and soft between you again. His hands on your face, your back, skimming your breasts and then pulling you closer. 

That’s when you catch the sounds of laughter and cheering from the camp, a series of war-yells coming from his troop members followed by the clink of bottles and more laughter. 

You break your kiss, both of you smiling like idiots. He knocks his forehead against yours and laughs, “We should go for a dip before we head back." 

Climbing off him you offer him a hand up and together you make your shaky-legged way back to the pond's rock shelf. 

The water is once again a delightfully refreshing reprieve from the stickiness, but it's getting late so you don't linger. A few kisses are stolen here and there as you bathe and dress, then Tech is taking your hand and leading you back to camp. 

You stop just outside the clearing and he gives you a sweet peck on the cheek. 

"You're not just the prettiest girl on this planet, by the way," he whispers in your ear, low enough that not even Hunter could hear. "I hope you get assigned to us again." 

Stepping into the circle of fire light there's Kix, Wrecker, Rex, and Cody and they're immediately cheering and whooping it up to tease you and Tech. You squeeze yourself between Rex and Wrecker, grabbing the bottle out of Wrecker's hand and taking a big swig. 

"What?" You wipe your lips and pass the bottle to Rex with a wink, addressing the rest of them with, "What's up with all the fuss? You guys never heard a woman scream in pleasure before?" 

There a moment's quiet, then Rex completely loses all his composure and is doubled over coughing through a fit of giggles. Tech swipes the bottle from him before Kix can and sits back to drink deep, a shit-eating grin still on his face. 

"Definitely not a Jedi," wheezes Cody through tears of laughter. 

At that Wrecker is gone and you're pretty sure that anytime an opportunity comes up to work with this crew again you're going to jump at the chance. 

And the mission is only beginning...


	4. Obi Wan Shot Universe - Bad Batch Plus Edition- 2! Crosshair!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Daddy Kink, Cockwarming-ish, Fingering, A Bit Of Smut, A Little More Smut, Then A Whole Bunch Of Smut. 
> 
> Author’s Notes: I don’t even have a Daddy Kink. I just had to write this or I was going to explode. I am so, so sorry. So very sorry. 
> 
> Characters: Rex, Cody, Wrecker, Tech, Kix, Crosshair
> 
> Length: 4k

The laughter around the fire dies down and a companionable silence takes its place. Somehow another bottle magically appears after Kix comes back from the latrine. Despite all of you acknowledging that you’re going to have sore heads and a hard march for it tomorrow, you’re all willing to take another swig when the bottle comes your way. **  
**

The second time the fresh bottle comes your way you bow out, saying you need to head for bed. 

“C’mon, we got plenny lef’!” slurred Rex, knocking his shoulder into yours. 

“Rex, honey, you’re all 20 cm taller and at least 20 kilos heavier. I don’t have nearly as much blood to dilute the alcohol.” You lean in and kiss him square on the lips with a big smack. “It’s my bedtime, so goodnight, gentlemen!” 

A chorus of protestations erupts and they’re all asking for goodnight kisses. 

So, You go to each of them in turn. Kix and Cody present their cheeks dramatically, Wrecker grins sheepishly and pecks you on the lips— and Tech? Well, his smile and the light in his golden brown eyes along with his sweet kiss made you glad you’d dallied on the path. You hoped to get another chance to be alone with him.

You head to the latrine, then grab what you need to wash up and get to work getting the smoke and dirt of the campfire off of you before you crawl into your bag for the night. Since you’re going to fill up your water at the spring-fed pond tomorrow morning you feel no guilt in absolutely soaking the cloth you’re about to use to soap up properly for the first time in days. 

You feel someone behind you in the dark. They’re absolutely silent and if it wasn’t for the way the force whispers to you you’d never have known.

“Crosshair, you don’t have to hide in the bushes and peek at me.” 

“Not in the bushes,” comes the reply from about a foot behind you, making you jump. He grabs you gently enough not to hurt you, you barely even feel his hand on you, holding you steady as he quickly throws the other over your mouth to silence the yelp of surprise that would have had all the boys running over to see what was wrong. 

Leaning in close, he brings his lips to your ear, “You alright?” 

You nod, relaxing your stance. 

He releases your mouth, but doesn’t let you go just yet. 

“How did you know it was me?” 

“You feel like— silver. Not steel, brighter than that. Orderly. Precise. Then around the edges something— like sweet wine or maybe just ripened fruit.”

“I have a flavour?” He sounds darkly amused. 

Shrugging your shoulders and sighing you attempt to explain, “It’s not _exactly_ like that. It’s a feeling— and I don’t really have words that fit— not precisely. It’s a shape, but _deeper_ or, bigger on the inside? I— it’s the way you bend the force around you, and where it flows through. There aren’t words for the sensations, really, just approximations. Poor substitutes." 

He’s gotten closer to you. You can feel heat baking off him. He smells like clean blacks, clean skin, and a base note of blaster residue. The darkly purple-red that’s always bleeding around the edges of him spreads, like ink drawn into old fashioned paper. 

"You make it sound like magic,” he scoffs.

“How do you think it looks to the regs when you can slow your heart and steady your hands at will to take the shot and never, ever miss?” You turn to face him, noting the tension in posture. 

“Hmmm,” he grunts.

The sniper’s eyes bore into yours, searching for something. “Why did you stay with the Order? Why not just join the ranks?" 

"I thought about it. Sometimes I feel guilty that I didn’t. Maybe it was the easy way out, to still fight the good fight but with less risk— and even though the Jedi think I’m a freak at least they understand the way I’m a freak. Without them I’d have run to the edge of the galaxy and kept going until the noise stopped.” You try a small smile to lighten the mood. “Why are you with the 99’s?”

“They understand the way I’m a freak.” One corner of his mouth twists up in a wry smile. “I don’t think it’s an easy out for you. You’re taking the same risks we are and you haven’t fallen behind once.”

“I train with Jedi who can jump higher, run longer and faster, and fight harder than anyone else thanks to the force. I work hard to keep up and I’ve learned not to let it show,” you chuckle. 

He grows still, and there’s a shift in the mood between you. 

“Are you Tech’s girl, now?" 

"No. I’m forbidden from ‘attachment’ and the thought would never occur to him, anyway. He hasn’t got a possessive bone in his body from what I can tell." 

Something flashes in Crosshair’s eyes and the colour of him spills out a little more. “You’re ‘forbidden from attachment’ yet—” He looks at you questioningly, not wanting to say the words ‘—but you let Tech take you in the forest and rut into you until you screamed his name loud enough for all of us to hear it’. 

"Not a Jedi, still part of the Order. No marriage, no strong commitments outside the order, no sex within it— technically. But overall it’s about no 'divided loyalties’. Compromises had to be made. So I made them— and so did the Jedi." 

"Are you like this with every unit you’re with?” If this were anyone else you’d be offended by what that question would infer, but Crosshair isn’t judging you. The only thing you’re able to feel aside from him just being himself is that there is a nagging question underneath all this. You can feel something— fear?— bubbling under the surface. 

“No. I’m not a wanton pleasure-house girl from _those_ kinds of holos, lacking in self control and throwing herself at any pretty boy in a set of armor.” Crosshair’s face darkens in a blush, and he’s about to protest when you cut him off, “I enjoy fun, in case you haven’t noticed. There’s been precious little of that since this ridiculous pile of bantha dung started. So, I did what any girl would do in a situation where she’s deep in the jungle, surrounded by a group of good, brave men who make her feel secure and safe— and is also presented with the opportunity to get that group of handsome devils naked for a bit of ogling.” 

“You’re very bold.” 

“My parents taught me a lot, but they seem to have forgotten to teach me shame,” you joke. “Now, if you want to continue this conversation I’m game, but I really do want to wash up first.” 

“How about I meet you at your tent in fifteen?” The sensations, the images coming off him, are strong. Stronger than you expected.

Well, it seems he’s got a bit of that shine on him. No wonder he never misses. With his mutations, training, and being mildly force-sensitive? He _can’t_ miss. 

An image slams into your head, you’re pretty sure he’s not projecting it willfully, but Maker, is it strong. 

He’s inside you, the feeling nebulous because it’s only his imagination, but then your voice rings out and— aaahhh, yes. 

Well, well, well. 

Isn’t _that_ interesting. Exciting, too. 

"Yes, please, just come in when you get there.” You change your demeanor just a touch. Just a touch more demure. A touch less assertiveness. Not enough for him to know it, but enough that his inner self lit up at the recognition. 

“I’ll see you soon,” he said as he headed back to his tent. His signature faded as he got further away, and you let out the breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. 

Crosshair is a complicated man, and you’re looking forward to exploring some of those wrinkles with him tonight.

***

He arrives fifteen minutes later, on the dot. 

After washing up you had headed back to your tent and quickly laid out your bedroll, then slipped into a sleep set you’d brought in case you had to share a tent. 

You had chosen to bring something small and light and you were thanking the stars you had grabbed a little tank-top and shorts set that was pale baby-pink, a little flower bud pattern on the fabric and a touch of sweet lace around the edges. 

When Crosshair walks into the tent you’re standing and looking at your bedroll, biting your lip and looking apprehensive. It isn’t a complete act. You’re definitely excited, but there’s always the chance that when you do this kind of thing it’ll backfire and not only shock, but embarrass or otherwise upset your partner. 

You are pretty sure that’s not the case here, though. 

He’s standing just inside the flap of of your tent, almost as if he’s unsure, except it feel more like he’s waiting. 

“Hi.” You smile at him, a bit shyly, and it has the desired effect of moving him towards you. 

“Hey.” That soft smile is back and though it came easy you get the impression it doesn’t come often.“You look like you’re ready for bed." 

You nod, looking up at him and still biting your lip. 

Every last bit of tension goes out of him and his face and eyes soften, taking his usual fearsome countenance and turning it into the face of a man under a spell of adoration. 

"Come here,” he holds out his arms to you, everything about him warm and loving. 

When you slide into his embrace he sighs, pulls you close. He tucks your head against his chest and kisses the top of it, murmuring gently, “The temperature is going to drop tonight. You’ll catch a chill if that’s all you have to wear.” His touch is gentle as he tugs a bit at the hem of your shorts, high on your thigh. A shiver runs up your spine as his fingertip slips around just under the fabric to the crease where your ample ass meets your leg and runs along it just until he reaches the curve to your inner thigh, then slowly traces back to where he started, just resting there between you. 

“Can you stay? I need— I need someone to keep me warm,” you whisper just loud enough for him to hear, your voice unsteady from the heady mix of his teasing touch and the wave of protectiveness that spills from the sniper and engulfs you. 

He slips his hand from your leg and grips your chin with his thumb and forefinger, turning your face up to his. He’s looking into your eyes and you know you should be ashamed of how openly you’re begging with your gaze, pouting ever so slightly, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Being wrapped in his arms right now insulates you from everything outside, everything that brought you here, and everything you still have left to do. 

_…Pretty Baby… Daddy’s going to take such good care of you…_

Ooooh, yes. You were sure that’s what you’d caught earlier, and this time there’s no mistaking it. It’s heady, making you feel far more inebriated than the drinks had. 

You melt against him a little more and he holds you a bit tighter, humming into your hair, “Let’s get you in bed, Pretty Baby, hmmm?” 

It sends a jolt through you and you feel yourself grow wet, the crotch of your sleep shorts damp and slick. Sighing, you release a breathy, “Yes, please.” 

He lets you go with visible reluctance and you crawl into your bag, reaching out and turning down the lamp to a soft glow. Crosshair bends and removes his boots, and since he was only wearing the bottom half of his blacks those were next. He had on some underkit that were a bit like tight shorts, and though they restrained his erection against him they did nothing to hide it at all. 

Okay. Well. So it would seem the physical differences between the Bad Batch and the other clones included things that were likely not purposefully chosen— _mutations_. None of them were exactly the same, but you knew pretty much what to expect and you knew that the average clone was _well_ above average. This was—

Oof. 

You feel his eyes on you and his amusement tickles at the edges of everything else. He’s caught you staring and though it’s not quite your style you’re still blushing. He slides into your bag with you, grabbing you gently and turning you around so his chest is against your back. Wrapping his lean frame around you his cock is flush against your ass and you’re wondering for just a moment how you’re going to manage to fit all of that anywhere, then he’s stroking gently up and down your arm, over your leg, across your stomach, then toying with the flimsy waistband of your shorts. 

He’s whispering to you, other words echoing in his thoughts just behind—

“I saw how wet you are. I can smell it. Such a desperate girl.” 

_…Such a sweet girl…_

“Let my vod make a mess in you—”

_…Nearly blew it then and there, hearing her scream when she came…_

“Here you are, after the whole camp heard you come. Letting all of us see everything while you played in the pond—”

_…Pretty little angel, floating in the moonlight…_

His fingers trail down under the fabric, pausing just at top of your cleft and staying there. You whimper your impatience, but manage to keep still. 

“What do you need, Pretty Baby? Hmm?” 

_…Tell Daddy what you need, Pretty Baby, tell Daddy what that pretty little pussy needs so bad…_

You’re not wet now, you’re soaked. You had no idea this would be so kriffing _hot_. Maker, this is like spice, but without the loss of control. Well, without the loss of most of your control because it takes you a split second after you’ve said the words to register exactly what it was you’d said—

“Touch me, Daddy. Please, please touch me. I’m so _wet_ , Daddy—”

“Oh, Pretty Baby you’re making your Daddy so happy.” He grinds his throbbing cock into your ass, sounding breathless, “You’re such a good girl for me—” 

His fingers dip down, sliding along your slit, just grazing the tip of your clit and making you shiver. The arm he has under and around you still tightens and you hear his intake of breath. “You’re so wet, Pretty Baby. Is that all for me?” 

“Yes, Daddy. It’s making me _ache_ Daddy— please don’t tease,” you pout. You push the blanket back and bring your hands to your breasts, teasing your erect nipples through your top. 

“Can Daddy fill you up while he plays? Would you like that, pretty girl? Getting stuffed full of your Daddy’s cock? Then I’ll make you come so it doesn’t ache anymore, hmmm?” He kisses your shoulder gently, his fingertips still tracing your slit and making your muscles clench against nothing. 

“Please, Daddy— Oh, please— yes. I need you so bad—” 

“Shhh, Pretty Baby. You don’t need to beg. I’m going to take such good care of you—” 

You whimper as his hand moves from your center, but his slick fingers turn your head to his and he gives you a soft, chaste kiss to quiet you. 

He pulls your shorts down and you wriggle out of them as he yanks off his underkit. He grips himself in one hand and lines up with your entrance, the blunt, fat head of him already slick with pre-cum and now your juices as well. There’s a momentary pinch, the pain an old memory that thrills you. He is massive and the fact that you know it’s going to hurt a little makes the entire scenario that much more exciting. He seats the head of himself within you, then his arms are around you again and his fingers make their way down to where he’s about to split you wide open. 

This time his fingers slip between and circle your clit with a slow, gentle figure eight. You could almost cry from the relief, and he slides in just a little bit as a wave of wetness floods his shaft. Withdrawing, he circles your clit again as he drags slowly against your walls. 

“Daddy’s going to get nice and deep and then he’s going to make you come, okay, Pretty Baby? You want Daddy buried in that pretty little pussy?” He sounds almost as drunk on lust as you feel, but that doesn’t surprise you— there’s no way he’s doing it on purpose but he’s projecting _hard_ and you’re just cock-stunned enough in the moment that you’re letting it all in. 

“Daddy, it’s _so_ good. Fill me up Daddy, I wanna take it all. I promise I’ll be so good for you—”

Crosshair starts up a slow push-pull rhythm, sinking a little deeper each time, his fingers stroking your pink bud deftly and keeping you from clenching too hard when he’s pushing in and then fluttering around to make your walls grip him as he draws out. When he’s seated himself fully in you, finally, you swear you can feel him when you breathe. 

“Ah, look at you. Stretched wide open on my cock and so hungry for more— You look so pretty like this.” He buries his face in your neck and grinds into you as his length throbs and bucks inside you. 

“Gonna make you come now, Pretty Baby. Gonna make you come— want you to kriffing soak Daddy’s cock.”

The fingers he uses to destroy and kill are now teasing and stroking your sensitive bundle of nerves, making you tremble and clench around him, each spasm making him moan as praise drips from his lips like honey, the feelings coming off him a mixture of bliss, lust, relief, and an overwhelming desire to just shower you with adoration and affection. 

“You take me so well, Pretty Baby. I’m so deep, I can feel every—” He pinches your clit just then, and your entire cunt seems to tremble with a wave of contractions. “Oh, you sweet little thing, did you like that?” 

He does it again and you’re now shaking, your legs feel like they’re on fire and your head is thrown back. You’re panting, you can’t really even think as he keeps pinching and rolling, pinching and releasing. You want to roll your hips, the need for friction almost overwhelming, but then the shaking seems to take over and you’re suddenly slamming yourself into him as hard as you can, shoving him past the point of pleasure and into a place of deep, almost unbearable pain but you need it— You want it more than you want to come, more than you want anything in the universe. You want him deeper than he’s been with anyone, deeper than you have ever taken anyone, and once he’s there it pushes the breath out of you— tears are falling from your eyes— you can’t take it— you can’t stop—

Crosshair manages to choke out, “Oh, kriff, you sweet little thing. Kriff, so fucking deep— you’re soaking me just like I asked, you _good_ — little— girl.”

His fingers surround your clit and with a sweet, fluttering stroke. Your chest unlocks and breath sweeps into your lungs just in time for you to let out a low, keening moan as you finally reach the blissful peak, trembling and half-blinded by the waves of orgasm and the waves of sensation coming off the sniper. 

It couldn’t have been more than ten or fifteen seconds, but you could swear you were coming for an hour. Time somehow slowed and every single burst along your nerve endings went on forever. 

As you come back to yourself you want nothing more than to ease the tension in him, now. 

“Daddy, you made me feel so good—” You wriggle a bit on him, the dull pressure-pain of him inside you and the pleasure still making you shiver an exquisite juxtaposition. 

“Get on your knees, Angel. Daddy wants to fuck his Pretty Baby’s tight little pussy and he needs to see— I’m going to stretch you wide open and I want to see those pretty little lips take me so well—” 

He slips from you gently, making sure you’re still wet enough. As soon as he’s out you’re on your knees, your chest to the floor pad under you, ass in the air, exposed to him exactly as he wants.

He’s behind you in a flash, massive cock in one hand with the other gripping your hip tightly but not hard enough to leave a mark. Once again he eases himself into you slowly, getting himself seated, then reaching around to once again tease at your oversensitive clit as he bottoms out inside you. 

“Daddy’s done playing, Pretty Baby,” he growls out as his hips twitch involuntarily, the burning heat in him taking over and aching for stimulation, for friction, to rut and pump and push until he spills everything he has. 

“Fuck me, Daddy,” you whimper, and that’s his tipping point. 

The passionate red-purple seems to rise like a tidal wave and sweep over you as he starts to piston his hips against you in a brutal and unforgiving assault on your core. He’s fucking you like he’s possessed, the loud smack of flesh almost drowning out the filth pouring from his mouth, but what is louder is what’s coming through from inside of him—

“Shove that big kriffing Daddy dick in you and you still beg for more? You want more?” He pumps into you deeper, making your body jerk each time he slams in. 

_…Stars, she is the most beautiful angel, so sweet…_

“Daddy’s greedy little girl— such a hungry pussy—” 

_…please, please bring her back to me again, even just one more time— don’t let me lose her forever…_

“Daddy’s going to fill you up, Pretty Baby— Daddy’s going to pump you full—” 

_…Oh, stars, heaven— this is heaven…_

His hips stutter and you look over your shoulder at him, eyes fixed on where you’re joined, licking his lips. 

“Please— Daddy— fill me up—I want it all Daddy. I want it dripping out of me— _Oh, please, Daddy_ —” 

His mouth goes slack and then—

_…Maker— Maker, I — Oh, I’m— kriff I can’t hold on— It’s going to kill me…_

A strangled cry rises and is choked off as you feel his grip on your hips tighten to the point where you know you’re going to have perfect finger marks in dark colours for days to come, and then he’s grinding himself into you as his cock bucks and throbs, spilling his load as deeply as he can. After the first few spasms his instincts take over and he’s coming down on top of you, pinning you to the mattress as he thrusts into you in time with the spray of thick ropes of cum that are filling you and spilling out of you, making a heavenly mess. 

He captures your hands in his, threading your fingers together above your head on the pillow. Nuzzling into your cheek he’s whispering to you in what you think might be Mando’a, the cadence familiar enough, but you don’t know the words. 

You don’t really need to know the words, though. The meaning of them is the feeling that’s washing over you as he begins to calm and rock into you gently, lavishing kisses on your neck and your cheek. 

“Heaven,” he whispers. “Can we stay like this a little while? I don’t want to go. Not yet.” He’s normally so gruff, so abrupt and no-nonsense, and right now he’s so soft and so vulnerable it breaks your heart a little and even if he was crushing you there’s no way you could say anything other than—

“Please, please don’t go. Stay. You feel so good— I don’t want this to end. Not yet.” 


	5. Obi Wan Shot Universe - Bad Batch Plus Edition- 2! Wrecker!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wrecker and our Reader are out gathering intel ahead of the assault when an earthshaking event leaves them vulnerable. 
> 
> Warnings: Softness. Lots of softness. A soupcon of knife play that will come back MUCH later on in this series. Makin' looooooooooooove. Kissing. Someone actually has to go behind a tree for a piss because I hate it when universes never mention our need to eliminate waste.

Twelve minutes ago you were pretty sure you’d get the intel you needed and be out of here and back to camp shortly after nightfall. 

Eleven and a half minutes ago your com crackled to life and Hunter was shouting at you to get the kriff out of there, any direction, just _**GO**_. 

Eleven minutes and twenty eight seconds ago Wrecker picked you up like a sack of vegetables, hurled you over his shoulder and began to run like he was being chased by an angry mudhorn protecting its young. His boots pounding the ground, he tore his way back through the careful path you had made to the base of the structure’s west side. 

Eleven minutes and twenty two seconds ago both you and Wrecker were sure it was the end as the ground rose under you, throwing you up and then dropping out below you, sending you flying out of the trooper’s grip, throwing you backwards as he went tumbling down a newly exposed jagged and rocky surface. 

Wrecker had picked the one direction that took you right into the cause of Hunter’s panic. He had run straight towards the reverse thrust fault that had just cracked the crust of this shitty, hot, fetid, stupid, overgrown, can’t-keep-itself-together-for-one-fucking-mission, hellhole of a kriffing planet. 

All around you trees were falling as the ground shook itself apart, then a sound that made your heart stop. A huge crack rent the air, followed by a screech of bending metal, grinding of wall against wall—

The entire structure you had just spent so many hours sneaking up on was in immediate danger of collapse. The west wall had been thrown up higher than the east, cracking the outer north and south walls and causing the roof to bend. Somehow it held on and you could hear terrified screams and the cries of the injured coming from inside, followed by shouted orders. 

Pain and fear flowed around you like a river of sticky liquid. 

Eleven minutes and four seconds ago the shaking stopped and the silence was like a slap in the face. Then a tree fell, and the shock of the end of the world ending broke and you could once again hear the sounds of panic from inside the base as they struggled to assist the injured and evacuate. 

Ten minutes and fifty six seconds ago the east wall crumbled from taking the additional weight and the roof collapsed on top of the remaining survivors inside. 

The river of death and terror crested and then slowed to a trickle. There were maybe three or four survivors, but you had no way of getting to them. Given who they were and what they represented, you weren’t disappointed by this in the least. They had a choice and they chose to follow the vision of a madman who saw everyone else in the galaxy as expendable in his quest for power. Who created an army of men and called them things, sending them off to die as if it were a game. Who thought pain and punishment were the only effective ways to gain and keep loyalties. 

Ten minutes and seventeen seconds ago you snapped out of it and assessed the situation, your training taking over where your own mind could not. 

The immediate danger was the trees leaning drunkenly all around you and the fact that you were separated from your team member, so you scrambled over to a large tree that had fallen a few yards form you and tucked yourself under the curve of the trunk, close to the ground. Cover and shelter. 

You had a few injuries, but couldn’t feel any blood seeping out of you in any great amount. You had either broken or badly sprained the third and fourth fingers of your left hand as well as a bad pull in your left shoulder. You tried to bring your hand up to get a better look when you realized your arm was strangely loose and although you were sure you were raising your arm you got only pain and a weird dead-fish-like spasm. The will to move it was there, but it just— flopped.

Nine minutes and thirty seconds ago you realized you had dislocated your left shoulder when you fell and marveled at how little it hurt as you tried to get it to respond to your brain’s commands. 

Nine minutes and twenty five seconds ago the shock wore off and you almost puked in your bucket. You yanked it off with your good arm, smacking your nose with the edge of it when you dropped it, catching it again, pitching it away, and immediately threw up in the dirt beside you. You saw blood mingling in with the sick, panic rising, then another drip fell and you realized you gave yourself a nosebleed when you dropped your own kriffing helmet on your face. 

Seven minutes ago, after the wave of nausea finally passed, you discovered your com was useless, the side of your helmet smashed and the comm antenna crushed. 

That’s not good, but it could be worse. Everyone knows where you are. You know where camp is, even though the jungle landscape is now a mess of broken and fallen trees. 

So you wait. They’ll come for you if they don’t hear from you. Time drags out slowly, and seven minutes seems to last an hour. 

At last you can hear Wrecker crashing along through the wrecked landscape, somewhere down-slope from you, then shouting. His com must be working because it sounds like one half of a very tense exchange. 

As soon as he’s quiet for a moment you shout, “Wrecker! I’m up here!” 

You hear more shouting into his com and after a moment his unfiltered voice calling out, “You okay?”

“Com’s busted. Shoulder’s karked. Gonna need your help getting up.”

There’s nothing for a moment and then you hear him through his com again and a moment later, “I’m headed to you. Stay there!” 

You hear a bit more crashing and then the sounds of him scrambling up the newly exposed rock of the fault’s face. You can hear him closing in, so you call to him now and then to help him get his bearings. 

As soon as his helmet appears, you call out again and he crashes his way over and through the mess of fallen trees and broken branches. You feel yourself sag a bit with relief, glad to see a familiar figure. Making his way through the last bit of debris he kneels down beside you and pulls off his bucket. Worry creases his forehead as he glances at your oddly canted shoulder and strangely positioned arm. 

“Broken?” 

“I don’t think so, just dislocated. I didn’t feel anything snap, just thought it was maybe pulled until I went to look at my hand.” 

He has a gash on the right side of his head, blood slicking over his ear and trickling down his neck. You reach out with your good hand and turn his face to the side then begin to probe gently to make sure he hadn’t fractured anything important. He tries to brush you off, and you bark out, “Hold still! I’m not done yet.” 

“Yes, sir!” 

“You outrank me, you know.” 

“Not when you yell at me like that,” he sulked. 

Satisfied that his skull is still intact and that his cut is fairly superficial you lean back gingerly. “How’s everyone else? Did they all check in?” 

“Everyone’s fine. Crosshair chose a kriffing huge tree and it’s still standing. Everyone else was at the camp and they were far enough away that there’s not a lot of damage.” 

As if they had heard you, Rex’s voice comes crackling through Wrecker’s helmet.

“Wrecker! Wrecker! Did you find her? Wrecker!” 

He shoves his bucket on, “Yeah, she’s right here. Shoulder’s dislocated and she’s probably got a busted nose but she’s fine enough to try bossing me around.” You don’t catch the response, but he’s quickly replying with, “Yeah, got it,” then he’s listening again and, “I got it. Tell your medic if he’s kriffing worried he can haul his ass out here and do it himself!” More static and something you can’t catch. 

“Yeah, Tech? — Can’t see anything. — How long? — Yeah, I know. — _Yeah. I. Know._ ”

He yanks the helmet off and tosses it beside you, turning to sit next to you with his back against the tree. “If it ain’t the karking regs on my ass it’s my own squad,” he moaned. 

“C’mon, Wrecker, it can’t be that bad. They’re just worried.” 

“They’re worried I can’t look after you.” 

“I don’t need ‘looking after’ for Maker’s sake!” 

“Yeah, I _know_. That’s what’s pissin’ me off.” He turned his head to you, his eyes narrow. “We gotta get that shoulder back in so we can get moving. You ready?”

“Help me up, I got this but I can’t do it sitting down,” you say quietly, preparing yourself for what you were about to do. 

He gets up and helps you gently to your feet, trying his best not to jostle you. “Now what?” He’s looking at you with apprehension, probably not enjoying the weird way your left shoulder doesn’t match the right, with your arm hanging oddly out of place. 

“Help me get the armor off, and then you’re going to need to cut me out of my shirt. I’ll need a sling, and that’s pretty much all we’ve got. My pack is— It went Maker knows where when I went flying.” 

He stripped off his gloves and got to work on your armor, unclasping and pulling it off, setting it aside with his helmet. He was slow, methodical, and stunningly gentle for someone so big and brash. When you had been walking behind him today as he was breaking trail you had thought once or twice about him removing your armor, but in your imaginings he was rough and fast. This was— a very titillating experience, but you chide yourself that now is not the time for this kind of thing. 

You stand there and just try to concentrate on breathing normally as he works around you, trying to ignore the ache between your legs that had been building all afternoon as he forged ahead of you through the jungle. 

When the last piece of your upper protection is gone he steps back and reaches into his boot, pulling out his knife. 

The pain in your shoulder is like a scream and you can’t wait to get this over with, but at the same time you also don’t want to rush him cutting you out of your shirt. Your eyes are on the knife and you don’t realize that with all the pain and the shock you’re hiding nothing at all. When you look up Wrecker is staring at you like you just grew an extra head, then glancing down at his knife and back up to your face. 

You’re blushing, having been caught right out, but you hold his gaze. 

“Now’s _not_ the time for that,” he grumbles, seemingly as much to himself as to you. 

“I _know_ that. Just— be gentle. Go— go slow.” 

“Yeah,” he husks, low and a bit breathless. Kriff, why is this so _hot_? 

He grabs the hem of your shirt lightly, and slips the tip of the knife under the fabric. Sliding it up he’s gazing down at the blade parting the threads, his breath coming a little harsher, a little heavier. He’s taking his time, doing what you asked, going slow. So, so slow. 

When he reaches the valley between your breasts he stops for a moment, licks his lips, swallows heavily, and you’re hit with what feels like a dozen images at once, all layered one on top of the other. 

_His hands on you, gentle and soft, his lips worshiping your flesh._

_He’s on his back and you’re riding him, slow and easy, sighing his name as your hands wander his chest, seeking out his heartbeat._

_His back is up against a wall and you’re on your knees in front of him, bringing him to the edge with aching tenderness as he strokes your hair._

_You’re laying on your back, somewhere soft and warm and he’s moving over you, rocking into you like a ship in safe harbour as you cling to him and whisper ‘go slow’ into his ear._

Your good arm comes up, seemingly all on its own. You’re cupping his face and lightly running your thumb along his cheekbone. His eyes are half-lidded and dreamy, gazing into yours. He’s trembling and he tosses the knife in the dirt by your feet, bringing his hands up to take hold of the fabric of your shirt, slowly tearing, then pulling sharply at the last to split the neckline. 

He eases it down your arms, being mindful of your left, never breaking eye contact. Your chest is heaving, just a little, the sheen of sweat slicking your skin feeling good as the slight breeze blows over you. 

He appears in a trance as he slides his hand along your collarbone, the other sweeping behind and cupping your left arm, helping you raise it to drape over the top of your head, supporting the loose limb in his large, warm hands. Cupping the end of the humerus where it’s pushing into the flesh he pauses, saying quietly, “Cleansing breaths, and I’ll do it on the exhale.” 

Nodding, you breathe in, out, in, and lean your injured shoulder back into his hand while you exhale slow and steady.

With a gentle push he slips the humeral head past the edge of the cup that normally holds it and it blissfully slips back into place, the intense pain gone the moment it slid home. Relief, at last. 

You sag a bit and he helps you lower your arm, slipping his hands around your hips to hold you still while you regain your composure. 

When he sees you’re fine, and not going to pass out or otherwise fall over, he plucks his knife from the ground and grabs your shirt from the nearby branch he tossed it over. Cutting some strips and knotting them together, he fashions a sling that should keep the arm immobile enough until you can get back to Kix for an assessment. 

“We gotta get out of here. Tech said there’s powerpacks leaking in the building, they might not blow, but they’re still irradiating the area pretty well.” He looks at the devastation surrounding you, “We can’t get down that ridge with your shoulder like that. We need to go around.” 

“North or south?” You’re looking at both directions and trying your best to figure out which direction has the least damage. 

“Hang on,” he puts his helmet back on and you hear him contacting Crosshair. “We’re going around, can’t get down the ridge with her shoulder like this. North or south, vod?” He listens for a moment and, “Yeah, we’ll try. Don’t know if we’ll make it. Don’t want to stumble through the jungle at night, not— Where?— Yeah, yeah. Okay— Yeah— Okay. Four hours.” 

He takes off his bucket again and gives you that wide, happy grin of his. “Crosshair says he spotted your bag. Stay here.” With that he’s gone, vaulting over a few fallen trees and crashing around in the underbrush, then a triumphant, “Got it!” rings out through the quiet afternoon. 

He comes scrambling back over the logs with your bag slung over his shoulder. “Least now we’ve got water and some bars to keep going.” 

“Okay, so which way?” 

“Crosshair says head about two clicks to the north. The ridge ends there and then we can cut back at an angle to the camp. Shouldn’t add more than 10 clicks total if we skirt the edge of the worst of it, probably less.” 

He quickly straps up your armor into a neat bundle and ties it off to your pack, slinging the whole bundle back over his shoulder and then the two of you head off northwards for the long walk back to camp. 

*** 

It’s slow going at first. The epicenter of the destruction seems to be the facility you were scoping out, and as you go on it gets easier. Wrecker still needs to make a path for you or help you go around large obstacles, as you’re totally unable to climb over anything without jarring your shoulder. As long as you keep it mostly still it’s fine, but when it moves you’re hit with sizzling, electric bolts along your nerves. 

He checks in after four hours, getting a last update on the upcoming terrain from Crosshair. You’re heading into dense jungle again, and he’s going to lose sight of you soon. He’s heading back to camp now, himself, telling Wrecker he expects to see you both in the morning. 

You set off again, Wrecker trail-breaking and you following behind him. 

The sun sinks, shadows lengthen, and it feels like you’re no closer to your bedroll. Six hours after you started off Wrecker’s checking in with Rex and Cody while you head behind a tree to relieve yourself. You’ve got the necessary to keep clean in your pack and you’re sending up a prayer of sincere thanks to whichever gods watch over Crosshair and his keen vision. 

When you rejoin him he’s sitting with his back against a tree, setting his bucket down. “We should stop for a bit, have something to eat, some water.”

You nod, too tired to speak. The adrenaline had long since worn off and the awkwardness of trying to navigate the jungle with one useless arm was taking its toll. You fold yourself down next to him as he digs through your pack, pulling out two ration bars and some water packs. Handing you an open bar he pierces the corner of a waterpack for you and then tends to his own. 

You’re almost too tired to eat, but you take a bite and sip at your water out of habit of doing so when you stop. Refueling isn’t an option when you’re on a mission and no matter how you feel you eat and drink when the opportunity presents itself.

You’ve been sweating like crazy and you’re sunburnt from the lack of shirt or armor, your underkit’s tank top damp and sticking to your skin. You’re sure your nose isn’t broken, merely bruised, thank the stars. Wrecker announced an hour into the journey that you had two black eyes and though you were having some difficulty drawing a full breath through it, there was little pain except where your helmet’s edge had caught the bridge. 

What a goddamn pile of bantha fodder this turned out to be. 

Months of work, started long before you were ever drafted for this and weeks upon weeks of training and organizing and fine tuning the plan— all of it laid to waste. No new intel, no confirmation of existing intel— just _nothing_.

You’ll be out of the rotation for a while because of your shoulder. They’re not going to let you back out with any unit until everyone is confident you’re healed and you know they’ll put you through hell to prove it. 

“I think we’ll stop here for the night. We both need to get some rest.” 

You open your mouth to protest and Wrecker cuts you off.

“I outrank you, as you reminded me. So that’s an order.” His face splits in a wide grin and you find yourself grinning back. 

“You’re not my commanding officer,” you retort, feeling the fatigue that’s sinking into your bones. 

“I could com ‘em now?” He raises an eyebrow at you, holding back a laugh. 

“Stars, please don’t. I’ve had a hard enough day, I couldn’t stand Cody and Rex’s ‘You’re No Good To Me Dead’ duet on top of it.” You take another bite of your ration bar and squirt some more water in your mouth so you can at least chew it easily. They don’t taste bad, necessarily. They don’t really taste of much at all except ‘nutrition’, but they have the advantage of lasting for decades, so were a popular choice for emergency stores. 

“I’ll get us a shelter built. Can you manage clearing enough room for a fire? It’s going to get cold.” He’s looking up at the sky, and you follow his gaze. The pale shades of early evening had deepened further and you could begin to pick out the brightest stars in the local group. 

“Yeah, I can manage. Can you— can you stick close by? Sorry— I’m being ridiculous—” 

“No, I get it. Also, I— I had to promise everyone I wouldn’t let you out of my sight again,” he said quietly, almost sheepishly. He gets up and heads to the edge of the small clearing you’re in, pulling down branches and looking for saplings to use as poles. 

You get to work clearing space for a small firepit, gathering rocks and using the edge of your shin plate to scrape an area clear and scoop a shallow pit. That done and the rocks laid in and around, it was time to find some deadfall to burn. 

At least the kriffing earthquake was good for something. Anything loose had been shaken down from the canopy and you had a decent pile quickly and enough kindling to get it going. Wrecker had found a fallen tree with large, leafy branches and had cut a pile of them. He was hauling back some larger saplings and some green switches to tie the poles together with. 

He got the lean-to built quickly and with the fire going and one of your emergency blankets lining the ground it was pretty comfortable, all things considered. You’re both stretched out, the crack and pop of the fire and the occasional night-bird calling out are the only sounds. The sky is dark above you, stars dotting it here and there. 

You’re lost in your own thoughts, trying to process the events of the day and let go of it so you can get some sleep. Wrecker seems to be doing the same, both of you just staring into the firelight, content not to talk. You don’t feel much coming off him, he’s keeping things pretty tight to the chest right now, but there’s a discomfort there that you can’t clearly see. 

He’s the first to break the silence. 

“It’s my fault.” He’s still staring at the fire, his face a perfect mask of misery. 

“What’s your fault?” 

“It’s my fault you got hurt. I picked you up and I ran right into it. Then I lost you— I let you go so I wouldn’t crush you and I lost you. My job out there was ‘take care of the Jedi’ and I failed.”

“I’m not lost,” you chide gently, leaning into him and laying your head against his shoulder. “I’m also not a Jedi, remember? If I was none of this would have happened. I’m no one important. I’m just a shiny with a better set of friends and fancier digs.” You can’t help but laugh quietly, “If anyone’s getting karked over this, it’s me. I’ve never come back with nothing before. I’ve come back with less than expected, or something unexpected, but never, ever _nothing_.” 

“You didn’t plan for an earthquake.” He rests his head against yours, moving a bit closer to you. 

“So, you can take the blame for an act of nature, and I can’t? You’re the last guy I took for a sexist pig.” 

“You got a smart mouth,” he groused. 

“What are you gonna do about it?” 

_…kiss you…_

He says nothing out loud, doesn’t even move— but in his head he’s kissing you breathless, holding you close. You had thought he would be a man interested in rougher sorts of pleasures, in power plays and little games, but he’s nothing like that. Not at all. 

He’s got his guard down now that he’s lost in his thoughts, making it easier to feel what was happening below the surface. 

_***_

_It’s punishment—_

_The day is hot and sweat is trickling down his back. He’s with the girl, has been with her all day. He can smell her when he gets close. Sweat. Hot skin. Hot armor. Something else that isn’t any of those but is still very much **her**. It’s nice, like sweet pastries and fruit but not really the smell of food._

_He’s thinking about how she let Tech take her— how he could hear her moans— how his cock had been hard and aching— then thumping with his heartbeat— then it was pulsing and twitching and he was spilling in his blacks as she screamed and he clutched at his thighs against the need to stroke himself through it so he wouldn’t embarrass himself in front of the others sitting by the fire._

_Later that night he had gone into the woods and taken himself in his hand— had thought of her— thought of her cries— thought of kissing her and holding her and making her whisper his name breathlessly— his head thrown back as the sticky white ropes of cum paint the forest floor._

_His thoughts have him hard again and he’s glad for his armor but feels the hot shame of his lust, still. He feels the shame of **wanting**. _

_He doesn’t love her— He doesn’t even know her— but he thinks that maybe that doesn’t matter. He thinks— after what she said at the pond— that maybe she might understand._

_Maybe—_

_The world turns upside down. His vod, his leader, screaming in his ear to run **away**. He’s never told to run away, only towards. _

_Shocked from his reverie he sees the girl freeze, uncertain of which way to run._

_He grabs her, pulls her away from whatever danger might be lurking and begins to run._

_Then the world falls to pieces and it’s the end of everything. He’s going to fall on her. He’s going to fall and she’ll be hurt. He pushes her backwards, but she doesn’t fall behind him. There’s nothing behind him now but a wall of rocks and dirt and he’s tumbling down, down, down—_

_She’s gone like she’s been sucked into the sky and when the shaking stops he realizes she’s been taken from him— taken from them all. She’s gone. The one person outside of his own vod’e who can see them all as they really are— who understands and was breathless and starry-eyed and half-drunk from the love she feels surrounding them— she is gone and Wrecker is the one to lose her._

_It’s punishment—_

***

Over and over the scene plays out, lightning fast and complete. From the shape of things it seems he’s been stuck walking this circle until he’s worn through the carpet and made a groove in the floor. He’s been at this, under everything, for _hours_.

Even though he found you. Even though he knows what happened. Even though you’re here now, beside him and safe. 

A spark of rage lights within you. It sputters to life as you curse the Kaminoans, the Jedi, Palatine, Dooku, Jango Fett— all of them responsible for making these men and then breaking them from the moment they were born. Robbing them of choice. Robbing them of love. Robbing them of security. Robbing them of the chance to be more— to be different. Robbing them of pride in themselves as men, not just as flesh-machines that kill. 

If you ever get your hands on Jango Fett there won’t be much left. Giving away his genetics and then turning his back you could understand, but participating in the abomination that was the foundation of the GAR is unforgivable. Their training was Jango’s design, their slavery was his aim, and he took not only credits but a child of his own in the bargain. 

You wonder if Boba ever thinks of them. If he feels shame for betraying them. If he still denies any claim to fraternity with those who are so much like him— 

“If you grind your teeth any harder you’re gonna break ‘em.” Wrecker’s voice in your ear brings you out of your thoughts. “Does it hurt?” 

“No, it’s not pain. It’s not my shoulder. It’s sore but it’s better now that it was. I’m just— I’m angry.” You try to calm yourself, relaxing your muscles and unclenching your jaw. 

Wrecker falls into silence and misery leaks out of him like syrup. 

“I’m not angry with _you_ , Wrecker,” you sigh, knowing you can’t tiptoe around this. There’s no way for you to explain without laying everything on the table. “I’m angry because you’re running in circles inside your own head, hating yourself for being human and thinking it’s normal to feel that way. I’m angry because that doesn’t come naturally and you had to be taught to feel unworthy of love, kindness, tenderness. I’m angry that you’ve been robbed of so much and the people who did it then had the gall to punish you for wanting what was rightfully yours from the beginning.” 

He shrinks away from you and it cuts a bit. You’ve hurt him further, or shamed him, and you want to cry because you’re frustrated and tired and angry— but most of all you’re just so sad that you can’t make it better. 

“You— you could hear me? You heard—” He sits up and turns his back to you, burying his face in his hands. He’s embarrassed, afraid, feeling exposed and weak. These sensations always make you feel a bit ill. They’re _oily_. Sticky. They feel darkly wrong, like a deep infection with a maddening inner itch. 

“I couldn’t then, not at the time, but I can now. You were thinking of other things but underneath—” 

_…it’s punishment…_

You reach for him with your good arm, a hand resting on his back, “Wrecker. Please— I need you to understand— I hear so much, all the time, from everyone. I try not to listen, I don’t enjoy prying— but when someone is hurting, when they’re afraid— there’s something in them that reaches out, that cries out. There’s nothing about you that’s _wrong_. You’re not— you’re not broken or defective. Everyone needs love, Wrecker, and not all love is the forever kind from children’s stories.”

Everything seems to pause, like the universe is holding its breath— and then he’s turning back to you, at first unable to look you in the eye, “You’re not— you’re not mad?” 

“Why would I be? _How_ could I be? Maker’s sake Wrecker, I wish you could understand what it’s like to know someone’s _intentions_. Not just _what_ they want but the _why_ of it, as deep and clear as that pond we swam in.” 

He looks up at you, still unsure. Unsure of himself, of you, of what he wants to do. He looks down again and you feel like you’re casting about in the dark, looking for the lamp. 

“You don’t have to hide from me, because you really can’t. I don’t think anyone can when the chips are down. I can feel you, the you inside and the you that sits on top of it all— the face the world sees. I can’t help it. I wish I didn’t, and I wish that it didn’t hurt you or make you feel small. I wish— that thinking of me didn’t make you feel ashamed because—” 

You stop, closing your mouth so fast your teeth click together. He hasn’t moved and you can’t tell what’s going on because you’re in turmoil, yourself. You don’t want to hurt people. You don’t want to pry. If it meant that you could undo having hurt someone who truly didn’t deserve any of it you’d give up every beautiful thing you’ve seen and felt. All of it. If you could just take back—

A large, warm hand envelops yours. Squeezes. 

“Because?” 

He sounds timid, almost. The frantic beating of wings in a cage has quieted and now there’s something watchful in its place. 

“Because I _like_ it. Because it feels like wind in the grass, like flying, and smells like clean sheets and flowers in the sun— like shadows through a lattice on skin— like sugar, temple incense, candlelight— and because I don’t think there’s anyone in this galaxy who could be angry over someone seeing them the way you see me.” 

“I want— I don’t know how to say—” He reaches for your cheek, holds your gaze, and then you feel it— you feel him looking for you, opening up to welcome you in. 

“Then show me.” 

Wrecker gently wraps an arm around your back and lays you down. The forest floor might not be a Coruscanti bed, but it was soft from fallen leaves and smelled of growth and life and deep mystery. 

He dips his head down, his lips brushing yours, then your cheek, your temple. One hand cradles your head and the other has you held against him, like he’s found something precious and doesn’t want to see it come to harm. The warm, honey-sweet light of his affection spills over you, making you feel heavy-limbed, like you’d happily drown here if you only could. 

Then— at last— the sweetest kiss. Softly, his lips pressing to yours. They’re not hungry. They’re not _taking_. It’s a reaching out, a giving thing— Again and again he kisses you, lips parting so slightly, breath mingling, and still he holds you like you might break— like what there is between you might break—

_…go slow…_

Words are gone, and now there’s only sighs and sweet hums of contentment through soft smiles. His hand splays out across your belly sliding the material upward. His fingers dance over the newly exposed skin and then he breaks your kiss so his lips can join them. Up, up, up— and your breasts fall free, nipples already stiff in the cool evening air. 

There is not a millimeter of skin that he doesn’t kiss, and you don’t care that it’s making you ache. You want the ache. The heat. You don’t want to rush this, even if it burns you alive. 

He pulls a peaked bud into his mouth, suckling with unbearable gentleness, and though you’d always wanted pinching and teeth and _more_ — you were ready to come undone just from this. You’re stroking his head, his neck, anywhere you can reach. He lets go, and with a gentle lick he turns his head to continue his ministrations to the one he’s so far neglected. There was a sudden, almost frightening rush of tightness between your legs, a pounding of your heart echoed in your core. Maker, if he doesn’t stop— if he doesn’t stop you’re going to come before he even really touches you.

“Wrecker—” It leaves your lips not as a plea but a prayer, and he sighs against you, moans as he sucks and then there’s a blinding rush that runs from your chest to your belly— everything is centered on his mouth and his hands and then you’re whispering his name over and over as the tension snaps without anything more to push you over the edge than his mouth on your breast and his breath on your skin. You feel your muscles clench and flutter against nothing, your clit aches and throbs, slick lips sliding against nothing but themselves— 

Your head falls back and your lips part, a breathy sigh rising into the night air as your orgasm sweeps through you, your heart pounding and your face flushed. 

When you come back to yourself he’s smiling so softly, face alight with a gentle, loving pride and so much tender happiness. Again his lips and yours meet, and once more it’s the best kiss, the softest and sweetest kiss. 

_…go slow…_

He undresses you with care, setting aside your clothing as each piece is removed. When you’re blissfully, wonderfully naked he sits up for a moment to admire you. Warm hands trail across your skin, glowing with the firelight, glowing with the light that’s coming from the both of you. He discards his blacks carefully, unhurriedly, worshiping you with his gaze the whole time. 

You’re lost in the way he feels when he looks at you. It’s love— but not the sticky, grasping, greedy kind. It’s outside of ego, outside of possession. It’s the love of love. It’s the culmination of a crying out and an answering call, of a hunger in the soul for connection, to understand and be understood. 

He lays down with you again, shifting himself between your legs. One hand cups your cheek, keeping your eyes locked on him, and the other takes your good hand, threads his fingers with yours and brings it up above your head on the pillow. He presses forward and the blunt head of him, slick with pre-cum, nudges at your soaked core. 

This time when your lips meet his tongue seeks entrance and it is granted, and you’re lost in him as he slides inside and becomes lost in you. 

There is no rhythm or reason to your dance, just the chasing of sensation at a glacial pace. Drawing out each lick, each kiss, each push forward and each drawing back— until time stopped mattering and there was only each other and the stars pinwheeling between you both. 

_…go slow…_

He brushes against something deep inside that has you gasping, unable to quite catch your breath. Wrecker gently rocks into you, a hand cupping your bottom gently as if to anchor against the tide rising in you, to keep you where he needs you— where you need him— most. 

You’ve never found satisfaction just from this alone before but there is no mistaking the raging fire just over the horizon. You’re trembling and you can’t look away from him anymore than he can from you. You don’t need the force to feel him, it’s in his eyes, his kiss, it’s—

He slows, for just a moment, and once again kisses you deeply. Something shifts— opens and expands and you swear that for just a moment he could feel you the way you could feel him. His eyes widen, he gasps, and when he rocks into you again you can feel it in you and _through_ him. 

Wet silk and welcoming heat, sensations you can’t describe, and then you feel yourself flutter and it’s mirrored back to you and you’re lost, unable to look away from him as a burst of pleasure rockets through you, as your muscles grip him in a slick embrace, and then you’re canting your hips up to his and taking him as deeply as you can, coming undone on him and lost to everything else but him and the sound of his name leaving your lips. Every muscle in his body feels like it’s reached a breaking point and he withdraws until just his massive head is left within you. His lips meet yours and he’s sinking back in with a sigh as you feel the first pulse of him spilling within you. His hips meet yours like they’re coming home, and you stay pressed together as he fills you and sighs with you and kisses you sweetly. 

“You’re right, you know,” he whispers. 

“About what?” You’re smiling and can’t stop. 

“It does feel like flying.” 


	6. The Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a one-shot, taking place some times after the events on the Jungle Planet with the Bad Batch and before the events with Obi Wan! 
> 
> Warnings: Discussion of canon-typical morality and politics, vague allusions to violence, blackmail. 
> 
> Safe For Work!

“All I’m asking for is ten minutes, Cody. Just to talk. I won’t damage him.” You lay your hand on the Commander’s arm and lower your voice. “I will not harm him. Just ten minutes and then you can take him wherever you please and I’ll go back to Coruscant like a good little soldier. Deal?”

He stares down at you, considering your offer. He knows you can’t hurt the prisoner— wouldn’t hurt him— but he’s still unsure of your intent. He can’t exactly prevent you, either— You exist in an odd limbo. Each and every clone outranks you, but you’re here on behalf of the Jedi, as their representative, and so you also outrank them on a technicality. In certain situations. 

Situations like this one. 

Cody nods to the men guarding the door, “Let her in.” Turning to you he says gruffly, “Ten minutes. I’ll be coming back to get you.” 

He’s worried. Not for the prisoner, but for you. He’s worried that you’re going to let your anger get the better of you, and he knows you well enough by now to know that would be disastrous for you. 

You begin to prepare yourself as you would for any interrogation. Centering yourself, opening yourself to the force and cutting out distractions. You know that no matter what might be going on in your head, once you begin this process in your mind you cease to display any hint of emotional weather. In this state you are open to everything but only when you suppress everything else. You can’t judge what you feel, your only job is to understand, categorize, and remember without distorting it through the prism of your personality. 

Cody’s already left. He can’t stand to see the change that comes over you. It scares him the way holos of witch stories frighten children. You seem so unlike yourself, like something wearing your face has taken your place, erasing the dreamy-eyed girl resting her head on his shoulder in a pond under the stars and replacing her with something more akin to a machine. 

When you reach the door it’s opened for you and you’re saluted by both clones. 

***

_It’s the robes. Most of them still reflexively salute a Jedi in full robes, and even though you’re not a Jedi you’re still required to wear them when on official business. The Council had forced you to sit through what you still refer to as The Most Boring Debate In Galactic History, when they discussed what you should wear. **Officially**. _

_You’re not a padawan. You’re too old for that, and besides you’re out in the world I independently and in no way a student. Your work is valuable and you’re owed more respect than that._

_You’re not a Jedi. Robes are for Jedi and you’re— something else entirely._

_Armor would not do. Reminders of the recent martial bent of a faction of ‘peacekeepers’ were to be avoided at all costs. No, armor was out._

_Master Fisto spoke up, a cheeky grin lighting up his face. “You could send her out in a chokeroot sack and she’d be just as effective— so why not just let her wear her own clothes?”_

_**…that dress that’s so dark red it’s almost black, neck to wrists to ankles and made of something that’s too heavy to float but seems to anyway…everything hidden and still beautifully displayed…** _

_You betrayed nothing. Later you could replay the night you had spent in mutual seduction, culminating in a wonderful three weeks spent exploring the limits of pleasure and stamina. For now you needed to remain impassive._

_In the end they decided robes unless you were on a diplomatic mission— or otherwise occupied with espionage. Robes would impress, intimidate, and fascinate in equal measures in the right situation. Diplomacy, obviously, would benefit from you fading into the background as would spycraft. Interrogation, though, was when you openly acted as their eyes, their ears, their will, and sometimes their wrath. For that you wear the robes._

***

The room was not large, but it was comfortable and quiet. A bunk, a chair, and a table holding the remains of a meal. In preparation for your arrival the prisoner has been put in restraints, no one wishing to take chances with your safety. 

Brown eyes peering out from under a scarred and furrowed brow meet yours. He’s calm. Waiting. There’s no fear in him at the moment, as he knows who you are. More or less. The clones guarding him and bringing his meals have no doubt shared what they know of you ahead of this moment, and that was exactly why you had insisted that it be clones keeping watch over him. You were relying on them to relay tales of this incident or that mission— of interrogations you had participated in as you helped round up the galaxy’s current most hated. 

You wanted the prisoner to expect that he would be questioned, probed— you need him to believe, in this moment, that you were here to do the job of any inquisitor or jailer. You need him to have prepared himself for all the scenarios in which you were the soldier and arm of the Jedi come to wreak revenge on him so that when your true intent was revealed you could catch him unbalanced and in a moment of confusion. 

“Good morning. I trust you’ve been well cared for?” Your voice is level, calm, almost soothing. 

“Yes. I’ve been treated well.” His voice is melodic, a hint of an accent to the Basic that’s pleasing to the ear. His tone is unfailingly polite, but not friendly. He has no intentions of trying to worm his way into your good graces, as at the moment he can’t be sure you have any. Still no fear, though, just curiosity and watchfulness. 

“Have you been taken for exercise?” He looks at you, and you can feel the wheels turning in his head as he tries to work out why you’re sounding more like a concerned hotel manager than an interrogator. 

“Yes, but not today.”

“No? I’ll make sure you’re given the opportunity as soon as possible, if you wish to— of course.”

He’s guarded, and working hard to keep his guard up. There’s already a hint of confusion brewing. He’s preparing for a psychic assault, for you to try to work your way in, but the attack he expects is not coming.

His head inclines in a courtly gesture of thanks. “I would appreciate that." 

For a man who lacks any sort of recognizable moral compass, Jango Fett is almost prissy in his insistence on politeness in social situations, the echoes of Jaster Mereel’s guidance lingering through all this time. 

"Your sons are all anxious for the chance to spar with you. I think you may find some of them will present an interesting challenge in the gym." 

He flinches internally at the word ‘sons’, yet remains passive to the outside observer. 

"I only have one son.” Dispassionate. Neutral.

You allow it to pass unacknowledged and move on, “Do you know why you are here?”

“No." 

He has his own suspicions, though. Flashes of faces, some dying at his hand, some shouting in anger, some simply faded, mist-shrouded images of long lost lovers, enemies, and former allies. 

He expects you’re about to tell him, his curiosity like something hungry and licking its lips, eager for satiation. 

"Have your meals been adequate?” The question puts him off balance for a fraction of a second. “The galley is well stocked and the cook is talented. If there is anything lacking, or if you wish to have something specific they will accommodate you as much as possible.”

“The food is fine, thank you. I’ve been well looked after." 

Oh, he wants to ask you what this is all about. It’s scratching to be let out but he is determined to keep what little advantage he feels his impassive reaction is giving him. He has no reason to suspect you’re reading him. He can’t feel you trying, can’t sense any subtle invasion, and while it’s not making him bold it _is_ making him less defensive. 

"Have you had any recent contact with a Bith known as Fodlun Ch'or?" 

"Yes. We met at the public docking facilities on Choi three weeks ago.” He knows he can’t lie about meeting someone in such a populated and well monitored place so he didn’t bother to waste energy trying to formulate a falsehood. 

He’s suddenly nervous. Not outwardly, but the feeling is baking off him like heat from a fever. He’s wracking his brain trying to think of what the Bith may have done during that meeting to cause suspicion to fall on him. 

The answer to that is 'nothing’. Fodlun had hired him for a job. Nothing more, nothing less, and was not under any suspicion. You pause for a moment, as if you’re considering what your next question will be. You already know what you’re going to ask, and exactly when. Waiting like this is just theatre. An act for your audience of one. 

“You were treated for a shoulder injury ten weeks ago at a medical facility on Pamina Prime?” It’s not exactly a question, but still requires an answer out of politeness. 

“Yes.” Jango is carefully hiding his mounting anxiety, and if you couldn’t feel it you’d have no idea. He’s as cool as a Hoth winter morning on the outside. Inside? He’s a mess. What does a shoulder injury sustained while making a repair to his ship have to do with the Bith? 

“Has the injury healed fully? Do you still require treatment or physical therapy? We can provide that for you, gladly.” 

“No, thank you. It’s fully healed.” Now he’s really unbalanced.

“Do you know why you’re in restraints?” You ask the question with a very subtle undertone of asking a small child if they understand why they’ve been sent to their room. He bristles at the question, but the expression of frustration is fleeting, there and gone again in a heartbeat.

“I assume because they think I’ll try to take you hostage to escape.” 

“That is a safe assumption.” For the first time since you stood in front of him to begin the conversation you move, unfolding your hands and letting your arms rest at your sides. “Tell me, Jango, how did you feel when you found out about the inhibitor chips?” 

He reacted as if to a blow, flinching visibly. It caught him off guard, and the question itself was so unusual as to shock him that much more. Not if he knew and not whether or not he was aware, or complicit.

The answer flew through his mind, a scream on leathery, black wings. 

_…betrayed…my own blood…betrayed…_

Excellent. You had hoped there might be hurt pride, and in your wildest dreams perhaps some sense of being short-changed for the opportunity he had afforded Dooku and Palpitine. You had not imagined that you would be handed the ripe ujjai fruit of the man feeling like the failed buir of three million men, most of whom never saw thirty cycles, let alone twenty. 

The whole thing lasted maybe two or three seconds, perhaps enough time to blink twice, but those seconds were a glimpse into everything he buried when he agreed to the plan in the first place. Jango truly hadn’t known the extent of the program or its planned conclusion. He knew they were being bred to die, to be abused and used and subjected to horrific treatment. He had, for a time, found solace in fooling himself that they were being bred to be warriors.

For a time. 

He had come to despise the sight of his own face. Seeing it in the mirror is seeing all of them. Watching himself grow older and knowing how many of them did not weighed heavier as the cycles passed, as Boba grew up and went on to make a life of his own, as there was less to distract him from his own thoughts and remembrances in the long stretches of time between jobs. 

You let the silence spin out for a few more seconds. 

“I didn’t know what they had done— I had no way of knowing—”

You raise a hand and cut him off, “Yes, yes. I’m aware of all that. You’re in no danger from having sold your genetic code. That, at least, was a perfectly legal and morally neutral act. Mostly neutral, anyway. The grey area— the bit that’ll stick on you like slime— is where you begin to consider that while even now there’s little protection for _livestock_ or _slaves_ — What does one do when the livestock become _people?_ ”

He remains silent. He’s not sullen, not angry, just shocked to his core. The echoes of his own words on Kamino bouncing around inside his head. 

_…she knows… somehow she saw and somehow she knows… no one should have known… I never wanted them to know…_

“No need to answer, Jango, because I am about to tell you what you’re going to do. You are going to consider how likely it is that the program hasn’t stopped. That there are still remnants of the Old Empire, and the Sith, doing their best to revive and refurbish the plans that failed so spectacularly just a few short cycles ago. That they are desperate to continue the horror you willingly set into motion, whether or not you knew what was coming at the time.” Pausing for a moment to let it all sink in, you fold your hands again into the sleeves of your robes. “You are going to do what you should have done a long time ago and seek justice for the children you helped bring into this world and then abandoned.” 

“How?” 

“You are still the preferred template. There were rumours— whispers— of clones disappearing. Then came the real reports. Clones being snatched or simply vanishing from their lives. Their bodies, if ever recovered, showing signs of medical experimentation. Mostly to the brain. To the amygdala.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

“They altered your genetics to make the clones less aggressive. Less likely to rebel— though that bit didn’t exactly go as planned, did it? Now it appears they think that might have been a mistake. I believe they are trying to find a way to undo that manipulation in order to make a clone much closer to you in temperament. I believe that if they had the opportunity they’d jump at the chance to get their hands on you again.” 

“You want to use me as bait.” The old hunter smiled wickedly, his eyes lighting up as the pieces fell into place. “What if I say no?” 

“Then we are done here, and you will be free to leave— after a time. Just long enough for us to quietly spread the word about how very _helpful_ you’ve been and just after we’ve picked up some of your less savoury associates on some trumped up charges relating to jobs you may have undertaken with them. Obviously the charges won’t stick, and obviously they’d then be released right around the time ‘secret’ tapes from the Kaminoan facility are ‘leaked’ to the holonet”

“So it’s bait or trying to make my way in the galaxy with an even larger target painted on my back?” He clenched his jaw, wanting to rail against this but also knowing it would serve no purpose. 

“Yes. You can help us, help get justice for your sons— or you can try to live as long as you can with everyone you ever worked with and half the clones left in the galaxy hunting you down.” A glance at the chrono tells you Cody will be knocking on the door in a little over a minute. “You have a choice to make. Consider your options carefully.” 

A sly look crosses his features, “What about Boba? They can simply get what they want from him.” 

“You made a deal with a monster and you still think you weren’t cheated? Boba was not ‘unaltered’. Tyranus had no desire to have two of you on the loose.” 

That was the final blow. He seemed to shrink slightly in his chair. His eyes wide and fixed on yours as the realization of what had been done settled on him. You’ve got him. He’ll do what you ask. 

Cody’s signature, that blend of careworn authority and duty, was approaching. The door swung open behind you as you bowed slightly to Jango.

“I will come tomorrow for your answer, Jango. If you still wish to attend the gym for exercise just let your guards know and they’ll take you.” 

Jango looked up at the man standing in the doorway and for the first time in a very, very long time actually saw him. Saw the man he had become and was filled with regret that none of it was his own doing. That everything these men had become was in spite of all he had done, everything he had allowed to happen. His legacy had turned to ash in his mouth. 

_…Kote… my son. I— I won’t fail you again…_

“There’s no need to come back. I’m in.” 


End file.
